


Just Causes

by Darren White (Stouker), Stouker



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Adventure, Conspiracy, Drama, F/M, Intrigue, Suspense, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-23
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stouker/pseuds/Darren%20White, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stouker/pseuds/Stouker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years of Eternal Calm, nothing is as it seems. A young summoner and a weathered soldier must go head to head with Spira's most dangerous political entity in a deadly game of cat and mouse. Behind one cloak, however, may await many daggers; when strings are pulled by puppets' hands, there can be no such thing as certainty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blacktip Security Solutions

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let me just put this here before anyone accuses me of plagiarism: I AM "DARREN WHITE" from FF.net; I am posting this here as well for more exposure and for more security in case something happens to my hard drive.
> 
> Also, this is a work in progress, and as such, I will not be setting a total number of chapters until I get there. The number of chapters will always be one more than the number posted, to ensure this piece is not mistakenly labeled as complete. You'll know when it's finished.
> 
> Also also, when I uploaded here, I lost most of my citations. So if there's a little (1) or (2) next to something and it's not explained, I'll get around to putting it back soon.

_Ain't found a way to kill me yet._ _   
_ _Eyes burn with stingin' sweat._ _   
_ _Seems every path leads me to nowhere._ _   
_ _Wife and kids, a household left -_ _   
_ _Army Green was no safe bet._ _   
_ _The bullets scream to me from somewhere._

_"Rooster", Alice in Chains_

The pounding rain drummed out a savage tattoo upon the tin roof of the bunkhouse, the din muffled only by a dense mat of fiberglass insulation that sagged down through uneven gaps between the rough pine rafters. Inside the squat structure, amidst a cluttered circle of low cots and footlockers, sat a small cluster of dangerous looking men. There were six of them, hardened men in body armor. The older men, mostly veterans of Special Operations, had seen action everywhere from the Ho Chi Minh Trail to the Sunni Triangle. All of them were past thirty, and the two oldest were in their fifties. There were no young men employed with Blacktip Security Solutions, only grizzled and prematurely gray men for whom combat was a way of life.

Not that they saw much combat with their current employer. Shining Horizons Genetics Research and Development was a genetics research company nestled deep in the mountains of rural Brazil. Its biggest worries were corporate espionage and the occasional stray jaguar. This gave the Blacktip administration pause. They (Shining Horizons) had specifically asked for the most experienced contractors. They got them, for a price whispered about in the corridors of the complex back in Farmington. Six of the most dangerous men in the world were sitting in a wooden shack, enjoying a not-insignificant salary to stand in the rain and watch for wildlife and lost tourists.

Ostensibly, the men served as a deterrent to any rival research companies making less than satisfactory progress. After ten months of rain, snow, and more rain, the corporate espionage of which Shining Horizons was so publicly paranoid had not stuck its white-collared neck out from behind any trees. The only five hostile rounds fired the entire tour came about as a result of a jungle cat getting loose in the compound. Regular security, poorly trained locals in ill-fitting black and white uniforms, fired off four wild shots before the contractors killed it with the Walther WA2000 that one of the BSS snipers carried. There was target practice in the jungle every week, regardless of weather, but nobody mandated attendance. Everyone always came anyway. Even some of the security guys showed up one week, but left after their 9mm Beretta pistols gave them an inferiority complex amongst the deafening rattle of automatic, large-caliber rifles. _Expensive_, automatic, large caliber rifles.

One of the contractors, Felix "Diesel" DiMarco, lay on his back on the uncomfortable cot assigned to him. He was reading an old, faded magazine that had been left in the bunkhouse by one of its previous denizens. The 1962 magazine held little interest for him other than a diversion from the mind-numbing day-to-day rhetoric. Felix tossed it aside and tuned in to the usual bullshit.

"I got her screamin' my name, right? So I—"

"BULLLLLSHIIIIIIIIIT!"

"My kid's _turtles _get more action than you!"

Another merc in the bunkhouse spoke up. "I got a story to beat all y'all. So I'm in Oregon, right? And the guy's payin' me three grand a _week_ to keep his wife safe. So I says, 'I wanna see the mark'. I shit you not, she looked like she got _Fords_ parked up there! So he leaves, and we're alone in his office. Next day, the boss is askin' me if I spilled a drink on his desk. I says 'No boss, why would you ask that?' So then he says, 'CAUSE MY DESK CALENDAR GOT WATER DAMAGE!'"

A gray-haired, stocky man, whom the contractors collectively called "Gramps", snorted. "Knock that bullshit off, now. None of you _kiddies_ could screw your way out of a wet _paper bag_. Now, I don't want any more of that shit. 'Sides, I was poundin' two chicks at once behind the PX before any of you four was even a twinkle in your daddy's eye. Diesel, Smitty, you pricks are on duty tonight. Get your asses in gear and relieve Kirk and Hoser. They been out in the rain all night."

Felix/Diesel rolled off his cot, stood up and took his gear out of his footlocker, donning it in the routine he could have performed in his sleep. First, he strapped his "soft" body armor around his muscular chest. A Kimber TLE II rode inside a protective thigh holster to finish his first line of gear. A plate carrier made by Eagle covered with pouches and carrying ceramic trauma plates completed his second line. After checking that all the pouches were full and the magazines loaded, Felix picked up his rifle from his cot. The damn '416 was reliable as sin and just as lethal. After getting stuck with the night shift three weeks in a row, Felix attached a SureFire flashlight to one of the rails on the front end. He jammed a filthy Padres hat onto his head and stepped into the downpour. The rain drummed on his head, rivulets running off the hat that motor oil and a commercial solution had rendered waterproof. Smitty, who habitually slept in his full combat gear, stumbled and cursed in the mud way ahead of him.

Felix and Smitty slogged across the muddy compound, the muck over their boot tops at times, and saw Kirk waiting for them at the entrance to the main building. José "Hoser" Gonzales was nowhere to be seen. "Hey Kirk, where's Hoser at?" Felix yelled.

"Went to take a piss," Kirk said as he walked toward them. He made a show out of checking his battered Rolex. "You're _five minutes_ late."

"Blow it out your ass," Felix laughed, grinning. "Gramps is on his cycle; you better hurry back." Kirk nodded, and set off for the bunkhouse at a steady jog.

Felix leaned against the slick concrete wall, yanked his rifle's charging handle, and began dearly wishing the world would stop being so goddamn wet. He habitually glanced around every now and again just to make sure that no secret agents, _turistas,_ or local fauna were running en masse out of the jungle. A deer bounded across his field of vision, and Felix, a hunter, felt a severe temptation to shoot the damn thing.

He sighed. His bank account did little to justify the gargantuan fucking rip his continued military services tore in Felix's family life. Time after time he returned home to some new crisis to face, be it rent or new schools or those goddamn credit card payments refusing to go away. Felix couldn't turn to his family anymore, either; after he bought that apartment in Chicago, they refused to assist the man who dragged the DiMarco name through the mud. He spat. _Fuck everything. Give me my next goddamn paycheck so I can go home and argue over who gets what._

Not as though getting paid would fix much. Car payments, rent for a three-bedroom apartment in rural Chicago, taxes, cigarettes, booze… Shit, that didn't even include the legal fees for the ongoing legal S.N.A.F.U. with Tracy. The check he got every two weeks just managed to cover all these and leave him a little leeway. Like money for food. Blacktip Security wasn't _bad _to its employees, just not very kind to the ones whose decisions in the past cost the company considerable amounts of money to counteract bad PR.

He flicked his gaze down to his tattooed wrist. The glowing tritium hands of his Invicta dive watch said that he had been soaked to the skin for only half an hour. The wind kicked up considerably during that time, and now drove the fat raindrops sideways into Felix's eyes. "Fuck this," he growled, "I'm going inside." He grabbed the slippery aluminum handle and pulled the door open.

The two men stood muddying the white concrete floor, large puddles of water and silt collecting underneath them. Felix grabbed a pair of metal and plastic chairs from the waiting area and slid them in front of the door. "There."

Smitty laughed. "Too bad Kirk didn't think of that." He collapsed into the chair, body armor impacting plastic with a dull thump.

"Got a light?" Felix asked, as he pulled two cigarettes from a plastic "baggie" rolled up inside a pouch on his plate carrier. He offered one to Smitty, who produced a lighter.

"Yeah. Quit smokin', though."

Felix shrugged, and replaced the unwanted smoke. His wet thumb worked the steel roller until a fat little flame extended from the top of the cheap plastic lighter. "I can't quit."

"Baghdad?"

"Unh-uh. Colombia." He blew a cloud of smoke out of his mouth.

Silence.

"So heard anything from the ol' lady?"

"Yeah. That new custody hearing starts in a few hours."

"No shit?"

"None. Looks like Alec'll be growin' up without a dad."

"Gramps is givin' you emergency leave in a few days, right?"

Felix snorted. "Yeah. Already tried to delay the hearing. Judge said that it wasn't his fault I didn't put my family first. Lawyer says he'll do what he can to argue my side, but Tracy can look damn convincing when she cries. That judge'll give in to the bitch easy. I got no case."

"Sucks."

"Damn right."

More silence.

"What'd her lawyer say about the house?"

"Bitch wants it all."

"Cash?"

"Split."

Smitty gave a low whistle. "She'll make out nice."

Felix laughed, despite himself. "Fucker's even trying to get her the Ford." He shook his head in disbelief. "Gotta love the American justice system."

The two contractors watched big, fat raindrops spatter against the tempered glass with increasing velocity. "Crazy weather we're havin'."

"Hell yeah. It was seventy-five and sunny yesterday."

"And it was windy as all hell before that."

"Wonder if it's that 'El Nino' thing the weatherman keeps bitchin' about."

"Could be."

The mutually agreed upon silence resumed.

The building shook from a massive roll of thunder that wasn't thunder, and the sky flashed with lightning that wasn't lightning. The building shook and Felix split his lip open against the floor. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"GET OUTSIDE!"

Felix didn't have to open the door. It lay somewhere in the mud, torn free from its hinges. Outside, the rain stopped. But the thunder continued to roll, the lightning to strike, and the wind blew harder. He could feel the rifle pulling hard against the polymer clips of the sling that held it firmly against his body. Felix's filthy hat flew from his head. The contractors looked up at the eerily swirling, glowing sky

"Mary," Smitty breathed, "mother of God."

The spiral began to accelerate, and the lights dotting its ripples pulsated irregularly. A finger of lightning reached down from the epicenter and exploded in front of the contractors. From the smoldering crater crawled a human-sized, bizarre, bird-like creature. Spiked wings opened to reveal four glowing blue eyes. The unearthly illumination cast stark shadows on its writhing gray skin. Felix lifted his rifle and emptied a long burst into the creature's head. Blue liquid spouted from it in irregular spurts. It shuddered and fell over. Small pink and orange orbs emerged from the carcass and floated up lazily to the sky. "Jesus."

Something bigger burst forth from within the spiral. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!"

A bright trail of white flames traced a vicious swath through the clouds. The shape unfolded into a huge bird, bigger than anything Felix had ever seen, and flared its enormous wings to avoid impact with the mire. Red and gray feathers ruffled in the wind. The black, lidless eyes on its skeletal face turned toward him. Talons pierced the ground. It let out a cry, a hellish sound that brought a primal and dormant fear to the surface.

"GET THE FIFTY UP!"

Kirk and Hoser came sprinting from the jungle, carrying one of Blacktip's .50 caliber machine guns. They dropped it to the tripod and threw the bolt back with a loud crack. Felix could feel the concussions in his chest as round after round of steel-cored ammo exploded out of the big gun's chamber. He dropped into the muck on one knee and his own rifle began bucking against his shoulder, a deadly percussionist rattling along with others in a disorganized symphony of lead. The stink of cordite, hot metal, and ozone filled the air.

Smitty's mouth moved, but Felix couldn't hear what he screamed.

The creature drew its head back. The mouth opened wide. _The fuck is it—_

A white-hot ball of energy shot from the mouth. It exploded into the building, taking most of the reinforced concrete and steel structure with it. The air stank of ozone and the horrible rancidity of burning flesh. Felix hit the ground hard again; the red, sticky film draining from his forehead obscured his vision. Worse than in any artillery barrage or rocket attack, the desire to haul ass away from whatever the fuck this thing was kneed him in the balls. He rolled onto his back and tried to stand. Something hit him hard from behind, and he heard the ceramic fracture. _Thank God for SAPI!_

Felix looked to the side and saw his friend bleeding out into the mud. A piece of twisted reinforcing steel protruded. Felix couldn't do a damn thing.

"KILL THE SONUVABITCH!"

A contractor who Felix thought might've been Gramps came running from the jungle, holding a long tube over his shoulder. _LAW. Good._ The man dropped to a knee, and the tube sent a rocket flying toward the creature. It exploded in a fireball… Without touching the target. Some kind of shimmering field surrounded the creature, and nothing was getting through. The creature let out another cry, an unnatural sound that rippled through the compound. More of the smaller creatures flew from the pulsating spiral. Felix fumbled with the pouches on his plate carrier, trying desperately to get a grenade out. He pulled the pin, and hurled the metal sphere with every ounce of his strength. It bounced off the field and exploded harmlessly in the mud, sending a shower of debris into the air. _We gotta kill this fuckin' thing. We gotta stop it._ Somebody threw a white phosphorous grenade, and a violent white light illuminated the battlefield. The burning chemicals dripped off that goddamn energy field, baking the mud below until it fused into crackling glass.

A realization hit Felix with a force equal to a shot from the fifty. _It's toying with us. That sonuvabitch is toying with us!_

The creature shrieked again, and another ball of unholy energy crashed into the earth. This one sent Kirk and Hoser flying, their gun position completely destroyed. Felix used every round of ammo he had, and that damn thing continued to defy all logic. He tossed the now useless rifle aside and took off toward the bunkhouse for another one. Preferably a rifle that shot a bullet bigger than the '416 did. Something grabbed his leg and pulled him to the mud. Felix rolled over, and saw one of the smaller winged creatures clinging to his leg. He could feel the searing pain of a deep cut along the long rip in his green tactical pants. He struggled to get his pistol free. He slammed the steel frame of his handgun into what he hoped was the creature's head. He heard the mushy sound of something hard impacting flesh and bone, and the vise on his leg released its hold. Felix sent a pair of hollowpoint rounds drilling through his attacker's brain.

Another winged creature ran toward him, and Felix stuck out his left arm in the way he had been taught at Ft. Bragg. _Get the dog to latch onto your arm, then shoot the bastard. _Teeth pierced deep into his tattooed flesh, causing him to scream with pain. He pushed the muzzle of the gun against the grotesque face and fired. The cloud of cranial matter spewed out of the ragged hole and splattered against him. Felix pried its jaws off his arm, and his own blood streamed down his arm in a crimson sheet.

The crawl through the mud to what seemed like a safe spot was almost a swim. He forced his head up, to look at that… That _thing_ that seemed to be invincible. Someone in a red robe –_what the hell? - _was standing beside the massive creature. Whoever it was didn't seem to notice the hellspawn only a few meters away. _Move, you dumbass! MOVE! _

The man with the dirty red robe turned, and Felix tried to discern who the hell the crazy bastard was. He wasn't familiar, but his presence seemed to calm the creature, which drifted away from the building with an uncharacteristic lethargy. It floated until Felix could almost count the feathers on the avian's wings. He rolled onto his back, honoring a pact with himself that he would die with the wounds in front. As vision faded, he could make out the outlines of two clawed talons reaching down for him. Felix suddenly felt weightless. He squeezed the serrated match trigger one more time, determined to send that damn thing back to hell. He passed out after the gunshot sounded, and the pistol slipped from his dirty, bloody hands.

The last thing he heard before fading completely was his own, shallow, frantic breathing.


	2. Proper Thanks

Felix woke up. That meant that he was at least alive. His head was swimming, and the left side of his body felt like it was on fire. He was shirtless, of that Felix was certain. Being shirtless meant that his gear was gone. Felix slowly opened his eyes. The room was devoid of life, but full of strange trinkets. Jars and pots of unknown items lined the shelves around the circular space. The dwelling was some kind of tent, made out of a greenish-blue fabric with a brown ceiling. His hand shot down only to slap against his thigh. He bolted upright and looked frantically for his sidearm. Felix's eyes came to rest on the dirty green heap in the middle of the floor. He stood up, being careful to stay as quiet as he could. His muddy boots and torn shirt were in the pile, as well as most of his first line gear. The holster on his padded pistol belt, though, was empty. _Damn._

The flap at the front of the tent rustled. _Shit!_

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed. "How are you feeling?" She didn't look all that old; mid twenties, at the most. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, with three whip-like braids hanging from the back.

He froze, like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar, unsure how to respond. He felt keenly vulnerable without his pistol. "Where," he asked, "am I?"

She folded her arms across her large breasts, a frown bent her violet-colored lips downward. "You don't remember?"

He relaxed slightly. Maybe the Red Cross had gone lax with their dress code. _Yeah. And started hiring based on rack size._ "Last thing I remember was Brazil."

"What?" Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed at Felix.

Felix tensed again. So he wasn't in Brazil. And she wasn't Red Cross. "I want to know where I am," he demanded. "And where my gear is. Now."

The lacquered nail on one finger pointed to the equipment at his feet. "That's all you had when we found you."

"Found?"

"Yes," she said, the suspicion in her voice becoming evident. "Wakka brought you in from the surf Or have you 'forgotten' that, as well?"

"Surf?" _There's no goddamn surf in the mountains. What the hell is going on?_

Her black dress fluttered for a moment in the breeze wafting into the tent. "Maybe you hurt your head in a fall," she conceded, either attempting to persuade Felix or herself that he had not simply washed ashore in a strange world for no apparent reason. "I'm sure your memory will return within a day or two."

"Goddammit," he snarled, "I'm fine! There were five guys with me in Brazil when some gi-fucking-normous bird attacked us. Where are they?"

"I already told you, you were alone." She crossed her arms again and squared herself off to Felix. "So you're not from Spira. You just wound up here, is that it?"

"Did I fuckin' stutter?"

"Right," she said, irritably. "Maybe some sleep will help your head." She turned to leave, but Felix called after her.

"Wait, goddammit. Where the hell am I?"

She glared at him. "You'll remember tomorrow," she said.

He followed her out of the tent and into the sunlight. They were in a village of some sort, made up of half a dozen tents that looked exactly like the one he exited. Little children ran in and out of the foliage surrounding the village, chasing a small brown dog. The woman with black hair was walking directly towards a large, angular concrete structure. On a hunch, he followed her through the large wooden doors and into a… Church?

_Looks like St. Mary's._ The room was ringed with statues on risers of varying heights. Some of the statues were large, some were smaller, and all of them had some form of kowtowing acolyte before them. A large stairway at the back of the room led upward to an elegantly decorated door, made either of tarnished brass or aged wood. Or possibly both. When he was done ogling the aesthetics of the temple, Felix realized that the armor-clad men clustered in a tight knot at the foot of one of the statues were all staring directly at him. _They look like goddamn knights._ In Felix's experience, there were only two kinds of people who never failed to connect with each other: combat men and bureaucrats. The men didn't look like bureaucrats.

"Hey, can one of you guys tell me where—"

They turned, faces red either from the heat or from fervent discussion. "We're Crusaders, man! Show some respect!"

Felix didn't appreciate being addressed like a disobedient schoolboy, especially not from a bleached-blonde Prima Donna with a stick up his ass. "Earn it before you demand it, asshole."

The sonuvabitch narrowed his blue eyes at Felix, the expression nearly hidden behind his bleached bangs. "What did you just tell me?"

"You want my respect? Earn it. Otherwise, go fuck yourself."

"Heathens aren't allowed in the temples. I'm afraid you'll have to come with me."

Felix balled his hands into fists. "Try it," he demanded.

Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind. "Gatta, that's enough. He's confused."

He turned around, only to find the voice belonged to a young woman who looked about twenty. Her shoulder-length light brown hair was neatly trimmed, and parted down the middle. "I'm sorry, sir, but we're going to have to ask you to watch your language in the temple. Confusion is no excuse for profanity. Also, I'm afraid that your markings could be offensive to some." Her soft voice carried undertones of both authority and sadness.

"So you're in charge here?"

She smiled, the corners of her small mouth lifted towards cheeks reddened by the heat. "In a sense."

"So you can tell me where the fu— Er, where I am, right?"

She nodded. "Of course. You are on the island of Besaid."

"The 'welcoming committee' out there said I was in 'Spira'," Felix said, pointing to the door.

She nodded, and the beads decorating a long earring rattled against each other. "Yes… Besaid is an island just South of the mainland of Spira."

_I've dealt with weird before, but this shit deserves its own _category_ of crazy. _"Whatever you say."

"I'd like to apologize for Lulu, if she was terse with you. She's been under quite a bit of stress, lately. We all have."

He shrugged. "I've had worse."

She clasped her hands together, wide white sleeves flowing gracefully along with her motion. "I'm sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name."

"That's because I haven't told you yet," Felix responded. What he needed was a damn cigarette. Or a cold beer. Hell, why not both?

"Well," she said, "I would... certainly appreciate knowing whose life I saved."

"I would certainly appreciate knowing who saved my life," he echoed.

"My name is Yuna," she said, smiling. "And yours?"

"Felix."

"Okay, Felix. I trust you found your room to your liking?"

"I'd've liked it better if the rest of my gear had been there."

She tilted her head to the side slightly. "We put everything we found you with on the floor."

_Of course you did. _"That's what – Lulu, you called her? – said. But I had more than that on me."

Yuna nodded. "I'm sorry if something is missing, but I'm sure that we can replace it in Luca."

"Where?"

She waved the question away. "That can come later. Right now, we need to make sure you're okay."

"I feel fine."

Yuna tapped two slender fingers to her temple.

"Oh. Yeah, maybe that's all that happened," he lied, trying both to sound somewhat civil and to convince himself that he was delirious.

"Perhaps. Are you hungry?"

His stomach rumbled. Felix hadn't noticed before, but now that it was mentioned, he could _definitely _use something to eat. _When's the last time I've been hungry in a dream? _"Yeah."

A long pleated skirt flowed around high-heeled boots as she walked to the door. "Wakka had some fish from earlier today. Maybe we can get you some."

He trudged back into the village, following in the heeled footsteps of the young woman who called herself Yuna, wondering how in the _hell_ he ended up on this island. They passed through the rows of tents and into a dense jungle. Thin paths of beaten down foliage wound their way through a maze of palm fronds and vines. He pushed a large branch away from his naked chest. "Damn," he yelled, "how far off is the beach?"

"Not too far," Yuna called over her shoulder. "Just a little farther."

The path was well worn, with ruts on either side indicating where some kind of primitive cart had worn away the loamy soil. Small lizards skittered about in the undergrowth, darting around the fallen branches before skittering off into the grass. His combat boots were holding up well, but he couldn't _imagine _how Yuna was getting along so well in her heels. As they neared a crossroads in the midst of the jungle, Felix noticed a large staircase climbing upwards to a platform of some sort. Overgrown vines crisscrossed the worn rocks that bore mute testimony to the forces of the passage of time and of the unforgiving jungle upon the structure. He stopped at the base of the stairs, the bottom step nearly covered by soil and fallen leaves. "Yuna?"

"Yes?"

Felix held his hand sideways, jabbing his thumb in the air at the staircase. "Where's this lead to?"

She faltered a moment. "Old memories," she said at last, "which should be left in peace." The look of pain left her reddened face with the same rapidity that brought it. "We're almost to the beach."

A question formed itself on the end of his tongue before being shoved aside. Some things were better left unasked. A persistent rustling in the trees from behind gave Felix reason to check over his shoulder frequently, and also to begin wishing he had his rifle. He heard Yuna's voice calling to him from just out of eyesight. "The beach is just down this road. I hope you aren't getting tired," she teased.

Felix ducked under another palm frond. The air, which, up to now, had been perfumed strictly with chlorophyll now had its leafy scent superseded by a salty breeze which had to have been inbound from the ocean. After another low-hanging clump of vines, the bright sunlight cast stark shadows that reached out from the bases of numerous huts. Boats floated idly in the water, surf lapping at their painted wooden sides. The soft, white sand displaced under his booted feet, his footfalls leaving irregular craters in the beach.

Yuna was far ahead of him now, but Felix noticed that she was _finally_ having some locomotive trouble. Her heels sank into the sand with each step, forcing her to lean forward to an almost comical degree. He was about to start laughing when a voice yelled out from one of the huts.

"Hey, it's Yuna! Thought they wanted you in Bevelle today, ya? Change their minds?"

Her soft-voiced reply was impossible to discern.

"Oh, makes sense. So he's up now, ya?" The man's voice – Felix decided that the speaker was a man, unless women in Spira were unusually masculine – was heavily accented.

Yuna responded again; the only word drifting up the beach with enough volume to be audible was 'confused'.

The voice whistled. "Just like that, eh?"

Yuna beckoned to him. "Come on!"

The little hut had only three walls; the ocean-facing entryway was wide open, the only visible means of closing it off was a split green curtain that was secured to the wood on either side of the hut. The man crouched at the table was drenched in seawater, but his red hair was still impeccably styled into a single large spike.

"Hey, brudda! How you feelin'? Heard you had a nasty fall, ya?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Yuna said you had some fish?"

The man – _Wakka, I think she called him _– rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah… I was a little hungrier than I thought after practice. Sorry, brudda."

Felix shrugged. A day without food wasn't anything to bitch about. Speaking of which… "Yuna? How long was I asleep?"

Wakka chuckled. "'Sleep' isn't the word I'd use. 'Unconcious', _that's _more like it, brudda."

Yuna forced back a laugh of her own. "About a week."

Shit. Maybe this _was _something to bitch about. He reached up to scratch what he figured had to be at least a quarter inch of hair on his chin. "Anyone got a razor?"

Wakka shook his head.

"How 'bout a mirror?"

"Yeah, there's one back in your room in the village."

Felix sighed. _I'm not climbing back through that fuckin' jungle again, not _even_ in a dream. _"The hell with it. I'll shave tomorrow."

"So, brudda, you remember anything?"

"Unh-uh. I blacked out after—" He stopped. "I don't remember shit."

"Hey, brudda… It's not polite to talk like that in front of the lady, ya?"

He shrugged again. "Oops."

Yuna shot a sidelong glance at Wakka and shook her head. "I don't mind."

Wakka spoke up again. "One more thing… Those markings? They're not common around here. You mind telling us where you got 'em?"

"Yes," he replied. The lack of a cigarette sawed at Felix's already strained last nerve.

Wakka seemed surprised. "Oh." He regained his composure quickly. "S'okay, brudda. Everyone's got their little secrets, ya?" He winked at Felix.

"Yeah, you could say that." Felix rubbed a sore muscle in his forearm. "You know where a guy can get a smoke?"

Yuna flinched. "You mean a cigarette?"

"Yeah. I need one right about now."

"You smoke?"

"If I didn't," he said, exasperatedly, "I wouldn't need one."

She reddened slightly. "That would make sense. I'm sorry, Felix, but the closest place with cigarettes is Luca." Yuna drummed her fingers against at supporting pole. "We can get you some there," she added, sitting herself gently down onto a small barrel near the table.

"That's the second time you've mentioned Luca," Felix contemplated, scratching his beard again. "Mind telling me why it's so important?"

"There's gonna be a big Blitzball tournament there in a few days," Wakka explained, "and there's gonna be people from all over Spira there to watch."

Yuna nodded. "Blitzball is Spira's only sport," she said, continuing Wakka's frustratingly unspecific explanation. "It's played in a giant sphere of water."

Felix cocked an eyebrow up.

"We'll show you when we get there."

_Yeah, if I don't wake up back in San Paulo with a senorita in one hand and a margarita in the other. _"Sounds good." He pulled a crate over and sat down. "I've got a few questions first."

Wakka leaned back, reclining against the back of his wicker chair. "Shoot, brudda."

"What happened to my leg?"

Yuna spun the jeweled ring she wore on her middle finger with her thumb. "The cut was very deep, and one of the bones was fractured. I healed you, and Lulu sewed your pants back together."

He glanced down, and noticed the black thread crisscrossing down one of the legs. "Huh. Thanks. You said you 'healed' me?"

She nodded again. "Yes. Your wound was very severe; it required lots of energy to heal."

"Energy."

"Yes."

"That can heal people." Felix wasn't skeptical. He was just becoming increasingly certain that he shouldn't have missed that last company-provided C.A.T. scan.

"Yes, exactly. The art of White Magic."

Felix burst into laughter. Now he was _sure_ he was going crazy. Magic? What kind of backwater was this? _Did someone put some fuckin' LSD in my Coors?_

Wakka frowned. "I don't see what's so funny, brudda."

"Magic… You people have _got_ to be _shitting_ me," Felix laughed. "It doesn't exist."

Yuna smiled. "Believe in it or not, it's there."

"Yeah. Right." He turned to Wakka. "So you're a fisherman?" _At least _one _profession here makes an iota of sense._

Wakka grinned. "I guess you could say that. I retired from blitzball two years ago, so I could be Yuna's full-time guardian, you know? Anyway, there isn't much need for guardians anymore. So I've settled down a bit."

_Shit. Or not. _"Wife?" He asked, lazily.

Wakka nodded. "Me and Lu married right after— A few years ago."

_Cut himself off. Hmm. _"Kids?"

"Lil' Riko looks just like his mom."

"That's always the way, isn't it."

"You married?"

Felix spat onto the sand. "I was."

"Oh."

"Don't sweat it. If I'm not crazy," he mused, "then none of that matters."

Yuna spun the ring around on her finger again.

Wakka changed the subject. "Okay, brudda. So do you mind if we ask you what you do?"

"Can that wait 'till I'm not ready to tear someone's head off?"

The ring began spinning again. _Damn, but she's nervous._

"Not literally," he said, his whiskers scratching his face as he smiled, "it's just an expression. It means I _really_ need a damn cigarette right now."

"Well, that'll have to wait until we get to Luca, brudda. There's no tobacco in Besaid."

Felix groaned. "When's the boat leave?"

"Not till tomorrow, brudda. You oughta get some rest. You can sleep here; I've got a spare hammock."

"Thanks," Felix said, rubbing his whiskers. He didn't _want_ to shave: he _needed _to shave.

"We'll wake you up in the morning," Yuna assured him.

_Yeah, of course. The doc'll wake me up before that to give me my meds. _"Sounds good."


	3. SS Liki

The heavily accented voice broke into Felix's dreamless sleep. "Hey, sleepyhead! Rise and shine, ya?"

_Goddammit!_ "What time is it?" Felix groaned. Even what seemed like a tropical paradise had its own, annoying as hell alarm clocks.

Wakka shook Felix's shoulder, something Felix did not appreciate in the slightest at this ungodly hour. "Time to go! Ship's gonna leave without us, brudda!"

Felix rolled onto his back and blinked hard, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. The light shining down let Felix know all-too-cheerfully that it was nowhere near as early as it felt. "Where's my kit?"

"Your what?"

"My gear, dumbass," Felix grumbled, scratching things that desperately needed to be scratched.

"Lulu took it on board, brudda. We got some questions about it," Wakka added, his eyes narrowing, "but those can wait until the _Liki_ leaves."

"Ten-four," Felix mumbled.

"When?"

"It means 'okay'," he groaned. Goddamn, was _everyone _here this irritating in the morning? _If they are_, _there's gonna be one helluva population cut soon._

Wakka shrugged and walked off as Felix flipped himself out of the hammock and crashed to the beach. The ship waiting at the dockwas an ungainly monstrosity of wood, driven by two giant paddlewheels on either side. The painted hull was in different shades of blue and white, and a tall boathouse stood above the deck. Green and orange sails mounted on a high, tapering white mast wavered in the breeze; their taut edges acting as resting-places for large, white birds. The last time Felix had laid eyes on anything that looked so un-seaworthy… Hell, he didn't think he had.

Disgusting 'man titties' were present and in force on an overweight man standing on the gantry. "All aboard the _SS Liki _for Luca," the man called out, waving with pudgy fingers at the ship, chins jiggling with each syllable, "passage is two-hundred and fifty Gil!"

Wakka's voice rang out from the bow. "Let 'im on, brudda. We paid for him."

Felix walked onto the low ramp and onto the _SS Liki_. The boathouse he saw from the beach was actually an observation platform of some sort, with crates and barrels here and there. Wakka and Lulu stood by the thick ropes bordering the wide, peaked bow, talking to one another as they watched a little boy in red shorts run about on the deck. Felix sauntered over, just missing a large ball that whistled by his ear. "Kid can kick," he observed, amused.

Wakka nodded. "He's the top scorer in his league."

Lulu smiled at her husband, her set of violet lips curled upward at the corners. "Like father, like son." She turned back to Felix. "I take it you want your equipment?"

"Yeah."

"Second room to the right."

Felix nodded and walked back down the deck. Stacks of wooden containers and coils of rope shielded the sunken entryway, obscuring the view into the passage. He opened the metal door and stepped below deck. The cool air was free of the salty smell of the sea. Small lamps on the walls illuminated the corridor, reflecting off the brass panels and small circular portholes of the doors that lined the hallway. He opened the door Lulu had specified, and sure enough, his vest and belt were sitting up against the far wall, dirty and muddy.

He fastened the canvas belt around his waist, making sure to engage the polymer clip. Felix decided that now was a good time to make a quick check of what gear remained. The Cordura sheath kept his knife secure, but his pistol was still gone. _Shit. _The thumb-break rattled as Felix slapped his empty holster in frustration. A pop-flare remained fastened to the knife sheath with a length of paracord. The flare reminded him of another lesson he learned in the Green Berets: whatever you desperately need to survive, goes on your first line gear.

He walked back onto the deck, nearly losing his balance as the ship rolled to the side. Felix was glad he wasn't the only one lacking sea legs. He noticed a young man clenching tightly to one of the ropes on the bow, bending over the twisted cord, surrendering the contents of his stomach into the ocean. Felix let out a chuckle. _So even here, people get seasick_. It took a considerable amount of willpower for Felix not to help the boy find his way overboard. _That _usually cured seasickness.

Wakka walked over and stood next to Felix. "Kid can't keep his lunch down, ya?"

"I was just about to go show him what the underside of the ship looks like."

Wakka laughed. "Dunno if that would help, brudda. That kid's always losin' his breakfast on the ship."

"Yeah?" Felix popped his knuckles. "Think he'd've adapted by now."

"Some people are just slow learners, ya?"

"Damn right," Felix chuckled.

"So how you feelin'?"

"My head hurts like a bitch. Other than that, I'm _golden_," Felix said, offering a lame smile.

"You remember anything?"

_Yeah. _"Unh-uh."

"Nothing at all?" Wakka squinted at Felix, as though he were attempting to zero in on what the contractor was thinking.

"Nothing." Felix continued to lie.

Wakka sighed. "So I guess you aren't from Spira after all."

Felix scratched at the short black hairs covering his jaw. "I guess not." He wasn't lying; part of him still maintained that he'd wake up in a few minutes and laugh about the crazy-ass dream he had. The icy knot in his stomach, however, continued to remind him that there were too many things not jiving with his theory. "So tell me about this 'Luca'," Felix continued.

Wakka fell backwards and leaned against the wall of the boathouse. "S' a typical big city, you know? Lotsa people, runnin' around and tendin' to business. There's a huge Blitzball arena in the center of the city, right next to a sphere theater."

"Sphere theater… Sounds like an IMAX."

"A what?"

Felix shook his head. "Screw it," he said, "you were saying something about 'Blitzball'?"

Wakka scratched at the red stubble on his chin. "The Blitzball arena draws huge crowds. Like, we're talking tens of thousands of people a _day._ The sport kinda died down after Sin was defeated, but with the way things are goin' lately, the people needed a distraction, you know?"

"Sure. So Luca… it's the capitol, right?"

"Unh-uh, brudda. Bevelle is the capitol. S'where Yuna was supposed to be today, but she came back here to heal your leg."

"Huh," he grunted. Magic was something little kids watched on a stage in Vegas, not something that could sew a gaping wound back together. _I ain't buyin' this._ "That was… _Magnanimous_ of her."

"That's just how she is. Real nice, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess." Magnanimousness was not a trait Felix often displayed; it wasn't even a word he had the opportunity to use. "I never was one for first-aid, though. Most of my work involved killing people," he said, too casually, "not healing them."

Wakka narrowed his green eyes. "Brudda," he said, "what… did you do… exactly?"

"You mean what I was doing when I ended up here? Military contracting."

"Never heard of it," Wakka commented.

"People pay me to fly into dangerous areas and protect their sorry asses," Felix replied, his voice carrying a fully intended edge. _If he gets hostile, I'm putting his ass over the railing._

"So you were a professional Guardian?" Wakka's eyes widened. "That's like… a huge honor, ya?"

That wasn't a hostile remark, far from it. "Not exactly," Felix said, his own eyes narrowing. _What the hell is he talking about?_

"Around here," Wakka explained, "Guardians used to defend Summoners who were going on a pilgrimage. Me and Lu, we used to be Yuna's Guardians."

_And I thought it was rough learning Arabic. _"How much she pay you?"

The curved crest of red hair waved side to side slightly as Wakka shook his head. "We volunteered, brudda. We wanted to keep her safe, you know?"

"I get _paid_ to do the same thing." One of Felix's hands dropped to his belt, resting on the cord-wrapped grip of his knife. "Course, from the looks of things, I'm a helluva ways away from a contract."

"What's the knife for?" Wakka asked, either ignoring or not hearing what Felix said.

"Cuttin' line, brush, tape…" Just for shits and giggles, Felix decided to try getting inside Wakka's head. _Hell, none of this is real anyway! _"…and people."

Wakka raised one eyebrow. "Most guys just use a sword, you know?"

_Back fucking water. _Felix shrugged. "I'd put two in 'em before they got it out."

"'Put two in 'em'?"

"Bullets," Felix explained. "Nobody really uses swords anymore. Least, not where I'm from."

"You used machina," Wakka said, raising his eyebrows.

"If that's what you call it, then yeah, I used 'machina'."

"Why use one of those?"

Felix sighed. "Oh, gee, I'm not sure… maybe because I can just blow their fuckin' head off from a couple hundred yards away instead of lettin' 'em get close enough to see the size of my—"

"I get it, brudda," Wakka said, holding up a hand to indicate that he didn't want to hear the end of the explanation. "There just aren't many guys usin' those around here."

Felix snorted. "There ain't many smart guys around here, then."

"All I know is that the Crusaders use swords," Wakka conceded, making a gesture of apathy, "and the Al-Bhed use machina."

Felix drummed his fingers on the corded handle. "Back home, everyone used 'machina', or whatever you call it." He glanced down at his empty holster. "I lost mine when I showed up here."

"Your machina?"

"Yeah, a pistol. Tracy—" Felix stopped, remembering the argument he had with his then-wife about buying the Kimber. "It'll be fuckin' expensive to replace."

"She your wife?"

Felix spat into the ocean. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, the bitterness in his heart finding its way into his voice.

"Sorry, brudda," Wakka said. "Didn't mean to upset you, you know?"

"S'okay." Felix pulled the knife from his scabbard and flipped it in his hand idly, alternating between a blade up and a blade down grip. The honed edge flashed in the midday sun. "You said earlier you wanted to ask about my gear."

Wakka indicated his agreement. "Yeah. Mind telling us what it's for, brudda?"

Felix shrugged. "Told you 'bout the knife and pistol… er, machina. Flare here's for signaling in an emergency," he said, pointing at the pop-flare strung against his knife sheath.

"What about that vest?"

Felix rubbed a kink in his shoulder. "Stops bullets," he said, rotating his shoulder to get the knot worked loose.

Wakka laughed. "No, really! What's it do?"

"Stops fucking bullets," Felix shot back. "It's made of Kevlar." _Yeah. That'll help, DiMarco. Because every caveman islander knows about Kevlar._

"Of what?"

Felix shook his head. "Nevermind," he said, exasperated. Whatever place this was, it was getting way too fucking weird for his taste. _I'll take Earth back, divorce and all, thank you!_

"So you're a professional guardian," Wakka continued.

"Military and security contractor," Felix corrected him. "But I think they might be the same thing."

"You'd've made a killing a few years back."

The knife slid back into its sheath. "Dangerous place?"

Wakka nodded. "You got no idea, brudda."

_Yeah. We all know that three fucking wars ain't jack shit. _"I think I do," Felix said.

"I dunno if you do, exactly."

"I've killed enough people that there isn't much left to phase me." There was one thing Felix absolutely could _not_ stand: somebody, _anybody - _calling his expertise into question. As his eyes narrowed into slits, Felix felt an overwhelming sense of anger – he had just been snubbed by a figment of his fucking imagination.

Wakka chose to leave it alone. "So what're you planning to do in Luca, brudda?"

"It's hard to plan something when you don't know what the hell's goin' on," Felix snapped.

"Sorry," Wakka apologized, his tanned face reddening, "I guess we've kinda kept you in the dark, ya?"

"Yeah," Felix admitted, "you have." Already calming down, he drummed his fingertips against his sheathed knife again. "'Course, not like it matters right now. I oughta be worried 'bout writing this dream down, just to prove I actually had it."

Wakka raised his eyebrows. "Dream?"

"Yeah," Felix said, chuckling to himself. "There's no way in hell any of this shit is _real._"

"Brudda," Wakka sighed, "what's it gonna take to convince you?"

_Hang on…when I was a kid, my dreams always ended when I got hurt - maybe if…_

"Hey! What the-

He slid the knife though his thigh, piercing deep through skin, sinew, and muscle before the tip caught the edge of Felix's femur and came to a sudden, painful stop. "_Fuck!_" Felix snarled through clenched teeth. Pain was something he could deal with, just not when he caused it himself.

"What in Yevon's name did you do that for? Felix, you okay?" Wakka asked, frantically, between shouts for help.

The blood spread rapidly outward from the hilt of the knife and through the cotton of his tactical pants. The warm, sticky fluid trickled down Felix's leg into his boot. He grasped the cord-wrapped handle and yanked the knife back out. The blade slid against his flesh and through more blood. "Fuck," he growled again. His pounding heartbeat drowned out the screams of concerned passengers. _That wasn't supposed to happen! I should be awake now!_

The sound of heeled footsteps came clattering from the bow. "Felix," Yuna called out, dropping to one knee. "You're hurt!"

"I don't… He just… What the hell is goin' on?" Wakka was standing a few feet to the side of him, gesturing wildly.

Yuna was on her knees, examining the wound with all the tenderness of a surgeon. "It's very deep," she said with a sigh. "What in the name of the Fayth did you do that for?"

"I'm awake," Felix deadpanned, blinking hard. He looked to his bloodstained hand, to the bloodstained deck, to his bloodstained pants covering his bloodstained leg. "Awake," he repeated, with even less emotion than before.

She raised an eyebrow.

"So I'm not dreaming."

The other eyebrow raised.

_Goddammit, is _that_ how she heals people?_

"Well," she sighed, withdrawing a small vial from within her belt, "you're definitely awake. Drink this."

Felix took the glass vial from her hand. He pulled the cork stopper with his teeth and let the pale blue liquid trickle down his throat. The bitter taste caused him to gag at first, but he swallowed the rest of it. _If it's poison, at least I'm outta here. _Tingling and a gradual numbness replaced the pain in his leg. His vision swirled as he tried to fix it on his - _holy shit_! The bleeding slit closed to an almost unnoticeable red speck. The severe pain was gone, replaced by a high-frequency vibration oscillating from his knee to his hip. "What…" he gasped, "the _fuck…_was that?"

"A potion," Yuna said. Her smugness would have irritated Felix if it weren't for the circumstances. "We use them to heal wounds that aren't very serious."

Felix put his weight back onto his leg. It held. _This is officially the freakiest goddamn thing that's ever happened to me._ He forgot the free ride that landed him in this freak show.

Wakka broke the silence, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. "So brudda… You believe it now?"

_Oh, hell yes. _"I'd say… I'd say I'm pretty damn convinced," Felix said, clenching his fists to hide the trembling in his hands.

The beads on Yuna's earring rattled as she shook her head. "Whatever it takes, I guess."

* * *

"So what do you think?"

A half-asleep Wakka rolled over to face his wife. Her makeup, now washed away, revealed the flawless white complexion of her skin. The light blue sheets contrasted her long black hair. "I dunno, Lu," he breathed, eyes wandering down her figure.

"Why would you say that?" Lulu adjusted the sheet on top of her, pulling the rustling cotton fabric tighter around her body.

"He just seems… I dunno, it just doesn't sound right, ya?"

Lulu raised an elegant eyebrow.

"I mean," Wakka continued, "Tidus came from a place that existed once, you know? But this 'Felix'…"

"Hasn't told us where he's from yet," Lulu whispered, correcting her husband gently. "But I understand what you're getting at."

"He said he was a professional guardian."

The eyebrow raised again. "_Felix_ said that?" Lulu asked.

"Not exactly," Wakka admitted, "but that's what he meant."

"Either way, we can see if anyone in Luca knows him," she offered, yawning.

Wakka shook his head, his whiskers rubbing against the pillow. "That won't work, Lu, and you know it."

Lulu pressed her lips together. "Time will tell," she conceded. "Right now, I'm more worried about Yuna."

"She's just under a lot of stress, Lu. She'll be fine."

The salty breeze carried the sound of a soft whistle from the opened doorway.

"I hope so," Lulu breathed.

* * *

Somewhere over Iraq  
September 13, 2004 – three years ago  
2200 Hrs local time.

"Yo, Felix! You cool, kid?"

"I'm ice," Felix lied. The sickening, sweet smell of jet fuel was almost overpowering inside the enclosed body of the UH-60 'Blackhawk' transport chopper. The pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, drowning out the steady thump-thump-thump of the carbon-fiber rotors, their reverberations carrying down the magnesium frame and into the body armor encasing Felix's chest.

He fingered the charging handle of his carbine, the standard-issue M4-A1 fitted with a 'red-dot' sight and a sound suppressor. Looking down, he studied the custom-painted drab green finish - worn back down to the black metal in many places, completely burned away in others. His last name – DiMarco - was stenciled on the side of the collapsible stock in mustard-yellow craft paint; the only pigment on the M4 that mattered to the Army.

"You ain't lookin' no ice." Dante scooted next to Felix on the low metal shelf that served as seating for the six Green Berets riding inside the bird. His porcelain teeth stood out against the dark green paint on his face. "What's on your mind, kid?"

_A helluva lot, actually_. "Nothin'," he lied again. "Just the usual jitters." The noise of the flying helicopter forced the men inside to yell at each other just to make themselves audible.

"Damn, son, you gotta get rid of 'em sooner or later!" Dante shook his head. The grenade pins clipped to the foliage loops of his boonie hat clinked against each other and the large headset he wore to communicate with the pilot.

"Yeah, man, I know." Felix wasn't scared. After ten years, being shot at, for him, was like walking to the mailbox for Joe Suburbia. He was more concerned with the letters from home and the disturbing infrequency with which they arrived. Felix knew he shouldn't be surprised, though. The more time a man spent in a combat zone, the less and less he received letters from home. It was true back in 1967 and it was true now. _And_, he noted, biting his lip, _the less intimate they became_.

Dante paused for a moment and fixed his gaze on Felix's carbine. "You ain't got no nickname yet," he observed, hijacking Felix's train of thought.

Fuck. Felix turned around, studying the other man's gear. The yellow lettering 'HOLLYWOOD' barely stood out on the equally well-beaten stock of Dante's M4. "Guess not," Felix admitted.

Sergeant 'Hollywood' grinned. "You know why they call me that?"

"Nope."

"I got such a damn pretty smile, that's why." Hollywood bared his set of large, straight, white teeth and clicked them together twice to reinforce the point.

Felix didn't like where this was heading. At all.

"Boys," Hollywood said, deepening his already smoky voice, "looks like Private DiMarco here ain't got a nickname yet."

A round of snickering rippled through the chopper.

Felix was fucked, and he knew it. In the world of special operations, there were two things you always dreaded: your birthday, and getting your nickname. _Shit_.

Someone in the back spoke up. "Hell, how 'bout the 'Italian Stallion'?"

"Fuck that," someone else replied. "He ain't badass enough."

"Blow me," Felix yelled. "I'd kick your ass up 'n' down Durka-durka-stan."

More snickering.

"How 'bout 'Rocky'?"

"Fuck no," Hollywood sneered. "Anyone got any REAL suggestions?"

"Well, he's pretty fuckin' thick… 'Tiny'?"

Another voice from the back. "I think the 10th Mountain has a 'Tiny'."

Felix heard Kirk's voiced suggestion from one of the front seats. "I got one. 'Diesel'."

"Fuck, man!" Hollywood groaned.

"Nah, listen. Built like a diesel engine, he works like one, and he makes so much fucking smoke that you can't even breathe!"

The Blackhawk burst into laughter, and Felix reddened underneath the paint on his face. Having Tracy and the doc tell him to quit smoking was one thing. Having his squadmates ridicule his for it was another. "Some of you motherfuckers smoke more than me!" He protested. No joy, not that he really expected any effect.

"Yeah," Kirk reminded him, jabbing a gloved finger at the stock of his own carbine, "but we already got our nicks."

"Hey," the co-pilot called over the intercom, "how 'bout 'Tinkerbell'?"

"Careful," Felix warned, "or I might _accidentally_ have a weapon malfunction, and _accidentally_ blow a fucking hole in this bird when I get off it."

"Looks like you're Tinkerbell, _asshole_," Kirk informed him, "unless someone has something better."

Now the suggestions really started coming in.

"'Flashdance'!"

"'Zoolander'!"

"'Sunshine'!"

Felix put his face in his hands, the scuffed leather palms of his assault gloves rubbing against his painted flesh. _Christ._

Hollywood shook his head. "I ain't rollin' with nobody who got no faggoty-ass nickname. So no more of this fuckin' 'Tinkerbell', or 'Prison Bitch', or 'Butt Buddy' shit, got me?"

"Fuck it," Kirk said, rolling his eyes, "let's just give 'im 'Diesel'."

Sgt. Hollywood reached into his kit bag, sitting on the floor, and pulled out a can of Coors. "In the name of thy God," he invoked, with all the flair of a Southern reverend, "I christen thee 'Diesel'." He popped the can open with a snap-hiss and dumped its contents over Felix's head.

"Shit," Felix snarled. The hot – not warm, hot – liquid trickled down his face and over the rim of his jungle hat, pooling on the metal floor of the Blackhawk."

"Well," Kirk laughed, "I guess it's official."

Hollywood pressed the earphones tighter to his head. "Pilot says we're five mikes out. Get ready to drop."

The newly christened 'Diesel' flicked the floppy brim of his jungle hat with a gloved finger, sending drops of beer flying. "Ten-four, motherfuckers," he muttered, knowing full well that he was the only person who could hear his remark. It was going to take forever and a fucking day to get all the Coors out of his hat and gear.

Sgt. Hollywood held up one finger. "One mike."

Felix squeezed the grip of his M4 tighter, the skateboard tape on the carbine's polymer pistol grip scuffing the palms of his gloves even more. _Diesel_. He'd have to re-stencil all his shit. And get used to the new nickname. _Hell_, he thought, _at least I ain't 'Tinkerbell'_.


	4. Awake

_Wake up_. Felix opened his hazel eyes; his hands still clasped behind his head. The scene that leapt into focus was not what he wanted. Not by a long fucking shot. The dark, well-sanded wooden beams of his cabin lay parallel to each other, crossing a white ceiling from one bulkhead to another. A salted breeze and the persistent calling of gulls drifted through the open porthole next to the bunk upon which he lay. He sat up and folded his legs Indian style. Felix groaned, rubbing his eyes with hands that were weak from sleep. No amount of rubbing, or blinking, or swearing could alter what he saw. Spira was real, he was there, and the icy knot in his stomach whispered a silent 'I told you so'.

He swung his legs off the bed, his feet making contact with the cool wooden floor. Felix looked down at his plaid boxers and wondered what in the hell happened to his pants. He spotted a dirty green pile in the corner. _Forgot I took 'em off last night. _A pair of dull yellow cargo pants hung on the back of the chair near the door. Felix decided that he might as well wear something that _wasn't _tattered, sweaty, and stained with blood. A small, rectangular piece of paper was pinned to the crotch. The handwriting, neatly penned in black ink, leaned to the left with wide sweeping capital letters.

_Felix,_

_These are some old pants that one of the crewmen had in his locker. He said it was okay. I thought you might want something clean to wear. Lulu is doing laundry tonight; I'll ask her to use extra soap to get your other pants clean._

_-Yuna_

_PS: Check the pockets. There might be something there you need._

_PPS: Hope you're feeling better than yesterday._

Felix let the paper fall to the floor and pulled the pants on. They fit well enough, and the fly was laced shut – more secure than buttons, less painful than zippers. He swung the wicker chair out from the wall and sat down, pulling the battered combat boots from beside the doorframe. The number nine stood out in silver marker on the heels of the boots - it was his Shooter ID, randomly assigned to him by Blacktip. Inside the tongue, 'Catholic' and 'O ' were scrawled in Felix's block print. He pulled the laces tight, the nylon strands heating up as they played out between his fingers. He then wrapped the excess around the rim of each boot and tied them off.

The sharp corner of something dug into his thigh, and Felix shot a hand into one of the hip pockets. His fingers bumped a small, wooden box. Felix withdrew it and slid the mahogany lid open. He was not a religious man. Felix turned from his Catholic upbringing long ago, but it took every ounce of willpower in his muscular body not to shout a prayer of thanks. Six small, tightly rolled paper cylinders inside the box looked, smelled, and felt like cigarettes.

The matte finished metal of the door felt cool against his tattooed shoulder as he pushed it open. Stepping into the hallway, Felix slammed into Wakka.

"Sorry, brudda!" Wakka laughed, pretending to dust himself off. "You get some good sleep?"

"Yeah," Felix said, running a hand over the stubble on his head, the short black hairs tickling his palm. "Guess I'm really stuck here," he sighed.

Wakka nodded. "Thought you'd wake up back where you came from, ya?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Felix shrugged and scratched at his whiskers. _Lost or not, I need a damn shave. _"There a mirror anywhere?"

"In the bathroom. Knock first," Wakka added as he climbed out of the cabin area.

Felix walked down the hall, passing metal door after metal door. Designs of flowering vines bordered the edges of the teal, low-pile carpet, curling around themselves in intricate patterns. He rapped his knuckles against the frame of the hollow door at the end of the hall, the muffled impacts echoing through it. After a few seconds of silence, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The small, cramped room was like any head he would have found on an Earthly ship – toilet and shower in the far corner, porcelain sink near the door, water-spotted mirror hanging above the sink. Felix opened the cabinet under the sink, and was surprised to find a bin of what looked like primitive safety razors. _Sharp enough, _he decided after testing the blade of one with his thumb. Felix dipped it under warm water from the sink, and worked up lather with the scented bar of soap sitting in a tray near the faucet. After some contemplation, Felix decided to leave a little facial hair – a narrow, vertical stripe from his chin to his bottom lip. He then re-shaved his head, getting the hair as short as he could without slicing into skin.

Felix opened the tap on the shower and stepped into the shower basin, letting the high velocity, freezing water assault his body. _Damn but that's cold! _After rinsing the excess soap off and drying himself off with a towel draped over a rod on the wall, Felix examined himself in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at him from under a set of dark eyebrows. Scars on his knuckles paid tribute to the time a little boy learned to fight back. The dark green ink of the flames crisscrossing up Felix's right arm still stood out against the tan skin darkened by long stints served in the Middle East. The snake on his other arm was not quite precise; many of the banded segments were uneven, and the head of the snake just before the back of his hand was asymmetrical enough to be noticeable. Not that he gave a shit. _Ain't much room for perfection in Joliet._

Felix shook his boxers to clear the sand, and then pulled them and the yellow pants back on. He tossed the razor into the bin beside the toilet. Felix was still tying the drawstring fly on his pants as he backed outside. He held the latch open as he closed the door. He didn't want to wake anyone in the adjacent cabins. He slipped back into his room, grabbing his combat belt from the foot of the bed and clipping it around his waist. Felix pulled a cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit it with the smoldering oil lamp on the small nightstand near his bed. The bitter smoke traveling down his throat was the most comforting goddamn thing he had ever felt. Felix stepped outside his cabin once more, and climbed the narrow, steep stairway that lead into the bright Spiran sunlight.

_Shit, it's bright! _He squinted his eyes into thin slits. Felix stumbled forward and caught his balance on a handrail. Wakka was showing his kid how to kick a large, oddly shaped ball out of the air after it was tossed. Once again, a chunk of rubber whizzed by Felix's head and ricocheted off the wall. "Dammit," he laughed with the cigarette in his mouth, "I need a helmet whenever I go outside here!"

Wakka scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, brudda. Riko hasn't learned to control his sphere shot yet. Nice pants," he added, with a glance at Felix's legs. Wakka wrinkled his nose. "And you found some cigarettes."

"Yeah," Felix replied, taking the cigarette from his mouth to tap a small amount of ash to the deck. "They were _in_ the pants." He blew smoke out of his mouth. "Package deal," he chuckled.

Wakka shook his head. "Can't say I like the smoke," he admitted, "but anything that gets you back to normal is okay with me, brudda." He picked the ball up from the deck, running his fingers along the irregular bumps on its light blue surface. "Blitzball," he explained.

"I figured. So since it looks like I'm stuck here awhile," Felix said, a hint of a sheepish grin creeping onto his face, "think I can get something to eat?"

Wakka slapped his forehead. "Brudda, I forgot to tell you. There's breakfast back downstairs, in the galley. You know where that is, ya?"

"No," Felix said, shaking his head, "but it shouldn't be that hard to find." He thanked Wakka for tipping him off – _better late than never, I guess _– and clambered back down the short, steep stairwell.

The galley _was_ easy to find, especially for a half-starved soldier. The unmistakablesmell of frying eggs and bacon was wafting from underneath a set of French doors. Felix pushed on the brass plate and stepped into a galley that resembled any passenger ship back on Earth. Round tables lined the room in orderly rows with four whitewashed wicker chairs surrounding each. Dark red placemats contrasted sharply with white tablecloths that hung over every table. The fabric fluttered occasionally in the artificial breeze caused by the wide wooden blades of overhead fans.

Yuna waved to him from one of the tables. "Hey," she called out, "c'mon!"

Felix pulled one of the chairs out from under the table and sat down, the wicker creaking underneath his weight. A large platter of eggs and meat that _smelled _like bacon sat in the middle of the table. "Damn," he confessed as he placed his cigarette on the ashtray in the center of the table, "I can't remember the last time I ate a decent meal." The M.R.E.'s and "Hot Pockets" that he and the other contractors in Brazil survived on hardlycounted as food. _'Course, they do_ _last a helluva long time in storage. And in your stomach. And after you-_

"Help yourself," Lulu told him, breaking into his thoughts. "There's plenty left."

Four eggs, six slices of thick, greasy meat, and a tall glass of something orange probably qualified as 'helping yourself''. Felix made an effort to maintain some semblance of manners while he shoveled much needed food into his mouth. "You know," he smirked after hearing Yuna stifle a laugh, "if you hadn't eaten in a week, you wouldn't be much better."

"Do they _feed_ guardians where you're from?" Yuna inquired, throwing a glance at the small mountain of food on Felix's plate.

"Unless dehydrated, processed meat and vegetables count as _food,_" Felix replied, wishing he was joking,"then no, they don't."

Lulu held back her expression of disgust far better than Yuna.

"Exactly," Felix laughed. The meat was greasy and tough, with thin lines of fat marbling the dark brown muscle. It smelled like bacon, but it didn't taste like it… _at all_. The incredibly salty meat seemed _sewn _together by strands of fat. Stringy, salty, meat was better than nothing. It was also better than an ancient Hot-Pocket cooked on the crusty glass pan of an equally ancient microwave oven.

"Do you like the pants?" Yuna asked.

"Yeah," he answered, suppressing the taste of the meat with juice. "And the smokes are nice, too."

Yuna wrinkled her nose. "If you say so."

"So," Lulu began, "are you feeling up to telling us more about yourself?"

Felix flashed a smile faded by too many cigarettes from the rim of his glass. "Why not," he said, pausing to take another swig of his chilled, fruity beverage.

"First, where are you from?"

He set the glass onto the table. "Where was I born, or where was I when I wound up here?"

"Both," Lulu suggested.

"Chicago and Brazil, respectively," Felix replied, stretching his arms over his head.

Lulu pressed her lips together.

Yuna spun her ring.

"Yeah," Felix chuckled, "I didn't think you'd've heard of 'em."

"What did you say you did again?"

"Military contracting. Guess you guys call it being a professional guardian 'round here." He drummed his fingertips on one of the ridges of his now-empty, fluted glass. "I think I forgot to thank you for yesterday," Felix said to Yuna. _Yeah. Bet it isn't every day you get to heal self-inflicted stab wounds._

Yuna shook her head. "It's okay. I know how it must feel to be completely lost."

"Not from around here?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.

"What Yuna means," Lulu interrupted, "is that you aren't the first person to show up unexpectedly in Spira."

Felix leaned forward and removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Care to enlighten me?" He asked, blowing a narrow cloud of smoke at the overhead fan. If he wasn't the first one to drop in, he just might have a chance to get back.

"A few years ago," Yuna explained, "somebody else washed up on Besaid. Sir Tidus. He was one of the greatest guardians Spira ever knew." Her voice cracked. "And a good friend."

"You two were close, then," Felix said.

Yuna managed a nod before excusing herself and rushing out of the galley.

Lulu sighed. "I'd like to apologize for Yuna. She's been under quite a lot of stress lately."

"Who do I need to kill to get a straight answer around here?"

"This isn't something to joke about," Lulu said, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth downward. "Yuna and Sir Tidus were _extremely _close."

Like round after round sliding into a chamber, things began to come together in Felix's mind. "I see," he said, drumming his fingers on the glass again. "She didn't see it happen, did she?"

Now it was Lulu's turn to be confused. "See what happen?"

"Sir Tidus. Killed on that pilgrimage, right?"

Lulu's violet lips pressed together again, and her crimson eyes – _shit, didn't see those before – _flashed to her plate.

Felix knew a hint when he received one. "So how long you and Wakka been hitched?" He asked, changing the subject.

"One year," Lulu said. Her eyes and expression lit up. "Our anniversary is in a month.

Felix returned the cigarette to his lips. "Congrats," he said, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "You two got a helluva kid."

Lulu beamed, something Felix didn't see very often. "He's so much like his dad. Athletic, well-built, always on the move."

"Got his mother's looks," Felix remarked, letting a small length of ash drop into the ashtray.

Lulu laughed. "Thank goodness."

"I heard that, Lu!" Wakka called from the cabins.

"I think I'm in trouble now," Lulu smirked. She stood up and walked towards her husband, standing in the double doors.

Felix pushed his plate toward the center of the table and stood up. "I'm gonna take a look around," he announced to the empty room.

* * *

Felix sighed, flicking the cigarette butt into the glassy waters of the Spiran ocean. As much as he hated to admit it, there didn't seem to be any other explanation than the one melting a hole through his forehead. He was stuck. Glue, hot tar, bug-in-fresh-paint stuck. _And I'd better fuckin' accept it. _Of course, things in his new world weren't exactly how he could possibly have imagined them. At the moment, Felix would have accepted someone telling him that two plus two, in Spira, equaled 'King Henry VIII'.

The hardest thing to accept was that everything was just… gone. Brazil, Smitty, Kirk, Tracy, Alec... the list went on. Smitty, he knew for sure, died. The blonde-haired contractor from New York wasn't the first person Felix watched bleed into the dirt. _Maybe Kirk survived_._ Shit, maybe that bird got him!_

Felix shook his head in a motion just subtle enough to be unnoticeable by the passengers passing behind him.

_No. He's either dead, in a hospital, or at my funeral. My funeral… _Felix began wondering what the rest of his world had decided happened to him. _What'll they tell Alec? That daddy died in a horrible accident in the ass-end of Brazil, keeping watch over some wooden huts and a handful of overpaid nerds? _He spat into the ocean, channeling all his frustration into a meaningless gesture that only frustrated him more. Felix leaned forward against the ropes, allowing the thick strands to dig into his flesh.

Felix didn't bother looking up as he muttered a greeting to the heeled footsteps clattering toward him from the stern.

"Sorry about earlier," Yuna said.

"S'okay," Felix mumbled, "Lulu said you're stressed out."

"In a way. I've been busy as of late."

"Boy trouble?" Felix asked, turning his head towards her. _Easy to look at, _he mused. _Brunette, green - wait, no, hell, so her eyes are mismatched - green and blue eyes, fair skin…_ He pulled away from the railing, rubbing the indentations in his forearms left by the ropes. Yuna's heels clattered again as she walked to stand next to Felix and looked up at him. _And a nice build, _Felix noted. _A very nice build._

"Politics," Yuna replied, shaking her head. "And far too much of them."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "The hell's a kid like you stressin' out over politics for?"

She smiled slightly and pressed her lips together. "Two years ago, I was named High Summoner of Spira."

Whatever that office was, it sounded important. And someone who couldn't even drink legally should not hold an important office. "How in the hell did that happen?"

Yuna leaned against the rope, the fibers creaking against the wooden support posts. "There were seven of us: myself, and my six guardians. We defied the teachings of the Church, and defeated a great evil."

The calling of gulls carried in from the ocean.

"For that," Yuna continued, staring out at the blue-green waters stretching to the horizon, "they made me High Summoner."

"Great evil, huh?"

"Yes. Sin killed many people."

"Yeah."

Yuna's mismatched green and brown eyes widened. "You know?" She asked, spinning her ring.

"Uh-huh. There's sins where I come from, too."

The color drained from her face. "Fayth," Yuna whispered, "there's more than one where you come from?"

_Huh? _"Yeah… gluttony, greed, lust—"

Yuna's eyes widened more. "I thought there was just 'Sin'! They have names?"

"Yuna, if something here doesn't start making sense…" Felix let his voice trail off.

"I don't understand what's so hard for you to grasp," Yuna snapped.

Felix leaned toward her, his brow furrowing. "I think you're forgetting just how in the hell I got here," he said, his voice equally terse.

She folded her hands and looked down at the deck. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't be sorry," Felix said, becoming increasingly annoyed, "be explaining."

Yuna narrowed her eyes at the deck. "Sin… a creature created over one thousand years ago as a living armor for Yu Yevon. As Sin, Yu Yevon punished the people of Spira, and gave them a set of teachings that were falsely believed to be a way to end Sin forever." She paused, pushing her light brown bangs out of her eyes and looking up at Felix. "Forever," Yuna repeated. "But no matter how strictly Spira adhered to them, the teachings would never destroy Sin. Every ten years, a summoner would go on a pilgrimage across Spira, gathering Aeons to assist them in their upcoming battle with Sin.

"The Final Aeon, the last the summoner received, would be used to defeat Sin. The summoner would inevitably be killed in the process, and the Guardian sacrificed to form the Final Aeon would, in another ten years, become the new Sin. And so the spiral of death continued."

_If I ever make it out of here, they'll stick my ass in an asylum for sure. _"So in another… what… eight years… this thing will come back?"

The beads on Yuna's earring rattled as she shook her head. "Two years ago, my guardians and I went on our pilgrimage. We defied the Church, and defeated Sin without the Final Aeon, ending the spiral." Her voice began to crack again. "But not without losses."

"Sir Tidus," Felix said, nodding his shaved head.

Yuna flinched again. "Yes," she managed, her voice cracking even more. "Tidus. And Sir Auron."

The silence was almost oppressive.

_This we'll defend. _It was an occurrence all-too-common in his line of work. And it never got any easier to watch, hear about, or talk about. "So where are we going?" He asked, switching the subject.

"Luca," Yuna answered him. Her green and blue eyes sent Felix a silent thank you. "There's a Blitzball tournament."

"Wakka mentioned it. Kind of a big deal?"

Yuna nodded. "Huge."

"Championship game?"

"Unh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "Season opener. The first game – the one we have tickets to – is between the Ronso Fangs and the Guado Glories." Yuna nibbled at a bit of skin on the end of her thumb. "Those two hate each other." She paused again, squinting at Felix. "You never told me what those markings mean."

"And I don't think I will anytime soon. Not to be a jackass," he chuckled, "but I don't know you all that well."

"I saved your life," Yuna said, folding her arms across her breasts. "That counts for something."

_Right. _"In Kosovo, my unit was _required _to give first aid to downed enemy soldiers after the firefight moved on."

She squinted at him again. "So?"

"So," Felix continued, "just because someone gave me first aid doesn't mean they're an ally. Until I know you better, you aren't getting to know me better."

"You _could_ just say that it's private, you know."

"Fine. It's private."

Yuna withdrew a small pouch from her sash and handed it to Felix. "I meant to give you this yesterday. It's Gil," she added as Felix opened the drawstring and peeked inside at the gold coins. "You might need it in Luca."

_Cash. _"Planning to drop me off, huh?"

Yuna shrugged. "If you want to wander around Spira without any guidance, then yes, we will."

"Fair enough," Felix laughed, jamming the pouch into his pocket. "So, in a nutshell, what the hell are we doing?"

"'Nutshell'?"

"The short version."

"_We_, as in myself, Lulu, and Wakka, are going to watch the Blitz tournament. _You_ are free to do whatever you wish."

Felix cracked his knuckles. "How many tickets you got?"

"No need," Yuna said, shaking her head. "Lifetime passes."

He tapped a finger against his chest. "I meant for me."

"Oh." She rubbed her small chin between her forefinger and thumb. "I think tickets are fifty Gil apiece."

"And I have…"

"Two hundred."

Felix whistled. "Damn. Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

He looked over his shoulder toward the bow, watching the low mass of land begin to creep towards the boat. "Get there tomorrow?"

Yuna shook her head again. "Later this evening, if the chocobos aren't too tired."

Felix raised one eyebrow. "The fuck?"

"They don't have chocobos in… Chicago, was it?"

"That _was_ it; and no, we don't. Some kind of engine?"

Yuna laughed. "In a way. Come on; I'll show you!"

* * *

The ship rocked gently beneath him, rolling side to side in a soft rhythm brought on by the slight churning of the water underneath the boat's wooden hull. Had he been back on Earth, the motion would have been almost soothing. Instead, it only served as a silent reminder that he was very, very lost. Felix threw the cotton sheets off him and opened the small porthole next to his bunk, letting the sea-chilled air waft in through the cabin and bring his body temperature down. Unable to sleep, he got out of his bed.

He needed a cigarette. He took one from the wooden carton and touched the tip of the small cylinder to a hanging oil lamp, letting the orange flame play over the end of the cigarette. Felix inhaled, letting the bitter smoke travel down before blowing back out. The hazy cloud drifted upward before exiting through the open porthole.

A low whistle drifted in from outside. As little experience as he had had at sea, Felix knew that whistling noises coming from above deck couldn't bode well. He pulled his cargo pants on over his boxers and fumbled with his fly, his tired hands wrapping the white cord around itself and sending that goddamn rabbit back around the goddamn tree. The cigarette in his mouth illuminated the canisters and boxes around the entrance to the cabins as he staggered onto the deck. The moonlight reflected off the glassy water, and the slight breeze wrapped around his tattooed chest and dried the drops of sweat that had formed on him inside the warm cabin. Felix ran a hand back over his stubble-covered head, wiping away the perspiration.

The _Liki _left a long trail of rippling distortion across the surface of the water. Small, bioluminescent fish around the wake shot up from below and broke the surface in a discordant display of acrobatics. As he drew closer to the bow, he could make out the outline of someone standing at the peak. The high-pitched, raspy whistling seemed to be coming from him. Closer still, and a skirt of some kind became clearly visible. Felix approached the _woman _along the cool hardwood deck, ready to jump forward or defend himself against—

"Damn you," she whispered, "damn you."

He recognized the voice. "Yuna?" Felix asked through a dry throat.

Yuna spun around, her trademark earring clattered as it swung through the air. "Why aren't you asleep?" She asked.

Felix responded with a question of his own. "Yuna, _why_ in the _hell_ are you whistling at oh-dark-thirty? If I didn't have a cig," he added, removing the cigarette from his mouth to flick away the excess ash, "I'd probably would've killed you."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing her eyes. She snuffled. "It was a moment of weakness."

Felix replaced the cigarette, taking a long draw and expelling the smoke. He was _really _getting tired of everything in riddles. "Explain, please."

"I'd rather not." The dim light from the glowing cigarette reflected in the wetness covering her cheeks.

"You've been crying."

"That's none of your concern," Yuna shot back, her voice still cracked. "Go back to your cabin."

Felix tapped ash onto the deck again. "Anything that wakes me up _is _my concern," he said.

"I already said—"

"Don't try any of this 'High Summoner' shit, either," Felix smirked. "Because not only am I _not_ a citizen of whatever fucked-up place this is, I'm _not _taking orders from a teenage girl."

"Felix," Yuna said, "You… are going to get in serious trouble if someone… hears you speak to me that way."

He sighed, adding more ash to the growing pile on the deck. "If I ask nicely, will you give me a straight answer?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Why am I here?"

Yuna tilted her head to one side. "Because you… walked here?"

"I'm not talking about that, fu— Dammit. I mean here," he sighed, waving a tattooed arm in an all-encompassing gesture.

Yuna shook her head again. "Sorry. If I knew, I would tell you."

Felix sighed, taking another drag off his cigarette. "So it's normal for somebody to just show up out of nowhere?"

"No. But it has happened before."

"Sir Tidus, I know. Why was he here?"

"He… he had some battles to fight." Yuna sniffled again, and muttered an apology as she clattered across the deck and into the cabins.

He understood what she felt. Felix felt it again himself as the image of a hardened, gray Chicago ironworker leapt into his mind.

* * *

"_So, uh, is this thing on?" Tidus asked, staring into the sphere recorder. He scratched his head, gloved fingers ruffling immaculately styled strands of bleached blonde hair. Tired blue eyes smiled out from a tanned face._

_"Of course," Auron scowled, peering over his sunglasses. "I'm still not sure why you need to _record _our _hotel room_ on the Highroad."_

_"Hey," Tidus protested, "it's, y'know, for posterity! Think of it – when the pilgrimage is over, we can watch these and remember what it was like!"_

_"All I know," Lulu sighed, somewhere off screen, "is that if you record me without my makeup, I will introduce you to an entirely new world of pain."_

_The camera swung rudely to the left, the view blurred and then refocused on a seated Yuna, sitting cross-legged on her blue-sheeted bed. "Hey Yuna!" Tidus called. "Wave to the camera!"_

_She turned around and waggled a hand at the sphere recorder before returning to her book._

_The camera swung again, this time focusing on Tidus. "So here we are," he said, gesturing with a free hand, "at the Rin's Travel agency located on the scenic Mi'ihen Highroad. Ah… Um…"_

_"You paid five-hundred Gil," Auron chuckled, "you should at least have _some _idea of what to say into it."_

_"I do! Uh… We killed a really big fiend today."_

_"By 'we'," Lulu deadpanned, "you mean 'Auron, Lulu, and Ifrit'."_

_"Hey, I helped!"_

_"That isn't the word I'd use."_

_"Oh yeah?"_

_"Obstructed would be more appropriate."_

_Kimahri grunted his agreement._

_"Whatever," Tidus groaned. "So anyway, I guess that's all for today."_

_The image faded to black. _


	5. SHTF

The long pier reached out past the tethered SS_ Liki_. Walking down the extended wooden gantry, Felix watched as a multicolored cloud rose from the peaked coliseum in the center of the city and dissipated into the blue sky. Red, and yellow and orange beacons highlighted the crooked horizon. He walked under an overhanging lip, and into a massive domed structure. Repeating geometric designs of blue, white, and red decorated the stone floor of the concrete rotunda; possibly indicating the direction to restrooms, or to help tourists to find their way to the stadium museum. Small pockets of garishly dressed men and women milled about the large room. They clustered around fountains and about the small shops, a haven for vendors peddling their wares on unsuspecting travelers. A strange troupe of creatures stood on one corner, banging drums, blowing horns; the noise representing Spiran music echoed off the walls and drilled its way into Felix's brain.

"They redid all of this last year," Wakka said, flashing a toothy grin at the girls ogling him from a nearby bench. "After the fall of Sin, Spira was able to focus even more on Blitzball. The old stadium just wasn't big enough, you know?"

"I see." Felix pointed to two arched, curtained doorways straddling a large opening. "That where we're going?"

Wakka shook his head. "Locker rooms and the main entrance are that way, brudda. Yuna's got herself a private box up top."

"Private box?" Felix asked, raising one eyebrow. "Damn."

"Guess there's a few perks to defeating Sin, ya?" Wakka glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, you better be careful around here, brudda. We all know you, but them guards over there are eyein' you like you owe them money."

Felix looked back. Three men in helmets stood at the arched openings in the rotunda. Swords clipped to their waists sparkled in the sunlight. Their dark-visored, thin-lipped countenances radiated an aura of seriousness to make Felix uncomfortable. As a contractor, his meetings with other security personnel usually precluded beers and 'I shit you not' stories at a local bar. If outward appearances gave any indication of inner thoughts, however, such shoptalk would be decidedly unwelcome here. "Solid bunch of guys."

Wakka nodded. "Yeah, brudda, but you wanna stay on their good side, you know?" He glanced behind them. "Hey, you mind if I go take a look at the new locker room?"

"Knock yourself out."

Stadium security weren't the only ones eyeing Felix. He couldn't help but notice the stares thrown his way, to hear the whisperings and mutterings originating from people who had never seen a large tattooed man. _Some things don't change._ He leaned over a marble counter. "Beer."

Locks of curly, red hair waved side to side as the clerk shook her head. "We don't serve your kind here," she said.

Felix raised one eyebrow. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

She pointed at a sign written upon in a strange blue script. "Can't you read?"

"Let's pretend I can't."

"It says," she sighed, tapping a manicured nail against the bar to emphasize each word, "'Al-Bheds Not Welcome.'"

"Whatever the fuck that is," Felix said, "I ain't one."

"Felix?" Yuna called. "Having some trouble?"

He turned. Yuna and Lulu had made their way into the rotunda. "Yeah. It usually this much of an ordeal to get a beer?"

The clerk's green eyes widened. "Lady Yuna! May I interest you in a glass of our finest-"

"May _I_ ask why a companion of mine is unable to order a drink?

The clerk looked from Yuna to Felix and back again. "He's with you?"

"I'm not a _cat_," Felix said, narrowing his eyes. "You can speak _directly _to me."

"Yes, he's with me. Is there some trouble?"

Felix tapped a finger against the sign. "Apparently, I'm an 'Al-Bhed'. And that seems to be a bad thing."

"Well," the clerk said, bustling over to Yuna's side, "I've never seen anyone else with those markings."

"He isn't an Al-Bhed; he's a friend of mine."

The clerk apologized and rushed behind the bar to produce a ceramic bottle from underneath. "Here, as my apology. A bottle of our finest sake."

_Sake. _Felix hadn't drunk that since his contract deployment to Japan as a bodyguard for a regional governor. He had grown fond of the drink; but it was damn difficult to have served _efficiently _outside of Osaka. "Thanks," he said, accepting the proffered bottle.

After a moment of static, a voice broke over the PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, the first match of the season will begin shortly. Please make your way to the sphere pool and present your tickets to the Crusader at the entrance. They will be very happy to help you to your seat."

"Crusaders?" Felix asked a recently returned Wakka as they walked down a long corridor away from the crowded rotunda.

Wakka rubbed at his shoulder. "Kinda like… hmm… they're the Guardians of Spira, you know?"

_Cops. _"Yeah, I get it." Felix adjusted the fit of his vest over his chest. He wore it out of consideration for Yuna – he knew it couldn't be good for her to be seen with someone who had a grinning skull tattooed on his back. His knife he left back on the _Liki_, under his pillow. _Security at the stadium is bound to be tight, _Felix knew, _and I don't want to make more of a spectacle of myself._

Yuna tapped him on the shoulder. "This way," she said, motioning towards a small, elegant stairway. Her blue dress fit tight across her hips, and Felix did his level best not to stare at the way Yuna's ass moved as she climbed the stairs.

The stairway led to what looked like a VIP box overlooking a large, coliseum structure. Open seats ringed the stadium, with long, narrow stairways between seating sections. The overall appearance resembled the Houston Astrodome, where Felix had first met his ex-wife. The memory gave him a start at first, but he pushed it back into the Connex box where it belonged.

The announcer came back over the PA. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't already, please find your seats. The season opener is about to begin."

A massive metal ring rose up from the bottom of the stadium and began rotating like a part of a gyroscope. Water shot from cannons positioned around the coliseum and – _Jesus Christ! _The water formed a perfect sphere within the spinning ring, and the rippled surface pulled taut under some unknown force. As the sphere filled up, two groups of men dove in from either side of the stadium.

"This is going to be a good game," Yuna said, sampling the pink contents of a wineglass perched on the table between velvet chairs. "There's a really big rivalry between these two."

Wakka nodded as he sat down. "The Al-Bhed and the Guado hate each other, brudda."

"Al-Bhed?" Felix dropped into the chair next to Yuna.

"A desert tribe," Lulu explained. "They have quite the… _history _when it comes to interaction with the rest of Spira."

"Yeah, they thought I was one downstairs."

A loud whistle blew, and the crowd cheered loud enough to be audible inside the VIP box. Wakka leaned forward and white-knuckled his chair. "Here we go!"

* * *

"And with that, the first half ends! Jimma, I don't think I've _ever _seen two teams with such an honest dislike for each other!"

"Right you are, Bobba. There were more red flags that half than all last season!"

"No matter whom you're rooting for, you can agree on one thing: the Psyches are _dominating _the sphere pool today."

"Right again, Bobba. Their forwards have just been annihilating the Guado defense!"

Wakka flipped a switch, and the PA system fell silent inside the box. "Those two could talk all day," he said, shaking his head.

"They're right: this is a helluva game to watch." Felix waggled his sake bottle, the few remaining drops swirling about in the bottom. "I'm gettin' somethin' to drink."

Yuna's braid and silver earrings swung as she shook her head. "Can't. They lock the doors to the rotunda and stadium after the game starts. There's a minibar in the back," she added with a wave towards a squat little wooden dresser.

"So Lulu," Felix asked, walking to the cabinet. "Where's Riko at?"

"Kids' area. Wakka dropped him off this morning."

Wakka nodded. "He'll have more fun there than up here with us, you know?"

"Nah, I don't. Alec always liked to be where the action was." Felix froze, nearly sending his sake crashing to the ground. _Alec… _

"You had kids?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Felix muttered, flopping into his chair. He wished he could relive the past fifteen seconds and not say anything about his son. Alec DiMarco, the product of a keg of Heineken, a long stay in Afghanistan, and a blooming relationship with a pretty young fashion consultant named Tracy, was now the last DiMarco left in Chicago. Felix loved him to death. And here he was, stuck in god-fucking-knows-where, with no idea if he'd ever see his son again_. Alec… Shit, this is just great._ _I'm having a field day. _He forced the lump in his throat back down with half the sake in his bottle. That battle didn't need to be fought again.

Yuna adjusted her position in the chair, resting her clasped hands atop her crossed legs. "So what do you think of Spira?"

Felix set the sake down. "Stuff's the same; stuff's different; stuff doesn't make any damn sense. I'm gettin' used to it."

Lulu chuckled. "It's going to take a while for Spira to get used to you!"

"Yeah, brudda, you see some of the looks those markings got you?"

"_Looks_? Shit, I had a girl refuse to sell me a beer!"

"Maybe you should cover your markings," Yuna offered.

"I did; I wore my vest."

"I meant the ones on your arms."

"There is no way in _hell_ I'm wearing long sleeves in this weather," Felix said, pointing out the window in the general direction of the sun.

"Still," she insisted, "they are proving a bit… troublesome."

"They can take it up with me." Felix produced a cigarette from his carton and waggled it between his fingers as he looked around the room. "Anyone got a light?"

"Allow me," Lulu said, extending a hand. Felix dropped the cigarette into her white palm. She rubbed the cigarette between her index finger and her thumb for a few seconds. "Here," she said, smiling like somebody who just pulled a fast one.

Felix leaned forward and accepted a…_ smoldering_… cigarette. _She just… it… I… that doesn't… _"Did you just…"

Yuna smiled. "Believe it now?"

"Damn," he breathed. "Damn." Felix placed the cigarette into his mouth and took a deep breath.

"She's got the magic touch, ya?" Wakka asked, winking at Felix.

"Shit," Felix said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "If she can do _that _with her _fingers, _I bet you two have _phenomenal_-"

Three loud pops resounded through the wooden door from the hallway. Felix had been around that sound his entire adult life. No other sound in the world could exactly match it. _Someone's got a fucking gun._ "I'll be back," he said, striving to appear nonchalant as he stood from his chair. Felix walked to the door and cracked it open, peering through the gap. The corridor was empty and deathly silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jimma said over the PA, "there has been a… um… _disturbance_ in the VIP section. Please remain in your seats, and… ah… allow our trained security personnel to handle the… uh… incident. Thank you for your cooperation."

Four pops.

And they were close.

_Mary, mother of fucking God!_ Felix slammed the door shut and flicked the lock on.

"Felix," Yuna asked, her voice quivering. "What is going on?" She sat forward in her chair and gripped the wooden arms until her knuckles turned white. Lulu's long, black braids whipped through the air as she looked from the window to Wakka and then to Felix. Wakka stood beside Lulu and balled his fists, narrowed eyes flashing from Felix to the door.

"Someone's got a fucking gun," Felix explained, pressing against the wall, his hand darting to the small of his back where the absence of his .45 made him feel completely naked. "Stay low, and keep the fuck away from the window."

"What's a gun?" Lulu demanded. "You aren't-"

"Machina!" Felix hissed. "Someone's shooting one, and they're cl-"

The door exploded open.

The chromed barrel reflected the fluorescent light inside the VIP box.

The scratched slide came level with the ground.

The barrel traveled in tiny circles.

The trigger finger had no hair on it.

_Lunge_.

_Grab_.

The deafening report echoed inside the small room.

Yuna screamed.

Felix 's hand slipped up the warm slide and clamped onto the shooter's wrist. Another shot. He slammed him face-first to the ground, and pulled the man's arm up and back, away from Yuna. The arm snapped and popped as it bent in unnatural ways. The pistol clattered to the floor. Felix cut off a gargling scream of agony by twisting the man's head full circle. Bloodshot, bulging blue eyes stared up at him.

Felix fumbled for the pistol and hustled out the door. Another pop from farther away, in the main hall. He took off, his booted feet pounding against the concrete floor. He skidded to a stop at the locked double doors that barred his entry into the rotunda. Three more pops from inside. Felix pumped two rounds into the locking mechanism and slammed his shoulder against the doors. They burst open, and another gunman spun to face him. _Gotcha, motherfucker! _Felix placed the man's surprised face behind his front sight and fired.

The head snapped back, and a spray of cranial matter landed onto the floor.

A small family – father, mother, and daughter - lay sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. Fist-sized red holes pockmarked the bodies. _Oh, Jesus!_

His heartbeat echoed in his ears as he rushed back down the long corridor and into the room he left. Yuna, Lulu, and Wakka crouched behind chairs and an overturned cabinet. _Thank God. _"Get up," he ordered, "and get out."

"What the Fayth is—"

"Bad guys. Get up; we're leaving!" Felix grabbed the disfigured body and began running his hands along its sides and up its legs.

"What are you—"

_Gotcha. _Felix pulled a set of spare magazines from a satchel strapped to the man's leg. "Ammo," he explained, waving one in the air.

Yuna crawled along the floor to Felix's side. Her mismatched eyes were wide. "Did they… did they hurt anyone?"

"Yeah. Don't know how many yet. You're all coming with me, and we're getting the hell out of Dodge." He jammed all but one magazine into his thigh pocket. "Where's the nearest exit?"

"Dock 3," Wakka replied, his voice unsteady. "Brudda… what exactly is the plan?"

Felix studied the handgun for a moment. The black polymer grips bolted to the silver frame with three hexagonal screws. The controls were also black. He pressed what he thought was the mag release, and was rewarded with the _shlack _of an empty magazine sliding out and hitting the floor. "Kick ass, get the fuck out. If you know any prayers," Felix added, slapping a fresh magazine into the handgun before racking the slide, "start saying 'em."

Felix burst through the door and charged down the hall, Yuna and company in tow. He stopped at the bloody, almost-headless body of the second gunman and picked up the man's sidearm. "Wakka! Know how to use one of these?"

Wakka shook his head and took a step back. "Unh-uh, brudda. Never even touched one!"

Felix grunted and stuffed the pistol into his waistband. _Two's better than one, and I ain't leaving this thing here_.

Yuna gasped. "Oh, Fayth, Fayth, Fayth!" She dropped to one knee at the side of the dead little girl. "How could this happen? How could this happen?"

A rapid staccato echoed down the hall from Dock 3.

"Fuck," Felix snarled, "that's where we need to be." Before Felix could take off, four rounds slammed into the pillar next to him, and he vaulted over the bar where the redheaded receptionist had refused to serve him. Nobody would be getting service from her bar in the future – brown eyes stared out from the bloody, ragged hole that used to be her face. Felix peeked out from the side of the bar. Five more gunmen, each one carrying an assault rifle. _Bad odds. _He yanked the other pistol from his waistband and stood up, both guns barking in a discordant symphony of hot lead and sliding steel.

One of the gunmen jerked to the side and fell.

The other four opened up and dove for cover, their shots chipping away at the marble and ricocheting off the stone floor. The glasses and bottles on and above the bar shattered, raining broken glass and liquor on Felix. A translucent green bottle of something rolled past him, and Felix grabbed it off the floor. It was time to even the odds. He ripped the flap from one of his thigh pockets and soaked it in a pool of alcohol at his feet. Felix smashed the top of the bottle off and jammed the wet cloth into the jagged mouth. He smiled as he took the cigarette from his mouth and touched it to the strip of fabric. The flame was almost invisible, but supplied an impressive amount of heat.

Felix leapt from his cover, firing a pistol with one hand and holding the Molotov cocktail in the other. As the gunmen peeked out from their crates, he hurled the bottle at the boardwalk and dropped back down. The bottle hit against something and popped. Two of the men began screaming in a strange language, slapping themselves in a futile effort to extinguish the flames. One jumped into the ocean, the other lay on the ground writhing.

He jerked the other pistol from his waistband and fired until both slides locked back. A combat roll took him from the bar to the planter where Yuna, Lulu, and Wakka were crouched. Broken glass cracked under his weight and bit into his shoulder as he tumbled across the gap. More rounds ricocheted off the floor as Felix pressed his back against the ridged concrete planter.

Lulu buried her face in Wakka's shoulder, sobs racking her black silk clad body. Yuna curled herself into a tight ball, closing her eyes tight and rocking back and forth. Felix slapped fresh magazines into his pistols, let the slides shoot forward, and peeked out. He damn near burnt the rest of the cigarette in one breath – the flames from his grenade had spread into the rotunda and ignited the pool of alcohol on the floor. "Shit."

Felix tapped Wakka on the shoulder. "Hey! You gotta get these two out of here!"

"I've never seen anything like this, brudda."

"I don't give a shit right now. It's time to grow a fucking set and get your wife and Yuna somewhere safe." Felix took another look. The flames spread fast, but the burning pool of liquor didn't quite reach to the planter yet. The heat burned his eyes, forcing him to blink as he returned to cover. "Listen-go back through the doors and into one of the other boxes. Hide in the bathroom. Lay down on the floor, and don't make any fucking noise. You got me?"

Wakka responded with a convulsion.

Felix jammed one of the pistols into Wakka's hands. "Take this. Anyone tries to come inside, waste 'em. Get ready to run; I'll cover you!"

_Four… three… two…_

"GO, GODDAMMIT!Felix sprinted for the pillars closest to the shooters, and his shoulder slammed hard against the marble. He peeked out. The two men were crouched behind crates near the rotunda. He stuck the pistol out and fired blindly, taking chunks off the crates but doing little real damage. As the slide locked back on Felix's second to last magazine, he realized that he hadn't seen one security guard since the shooting started_. Where the fuck are the 'trained personnel'?_

He reloaded his handgun, grinned, and took a deep, smoky breath. The adrenaline was tearing through his veins. Those assholes didn't know who the hell they were fucking with. He leaned out and found himself face-to-barrel with an assault rifle. The man shrieked at him in a strange language. Context, though, performed wonders with an impromptu translation. Felix latched on to the barrel shroud and yanked, trying to get himself out of death's way. The man let off a long burst, and Felix's skin sizzled. He lashed out and smashed the gunman's front teeth in with the barrel of his own weapon. Felix stepped forward and shot him twice for good measure.

Two clicks sounded from behind.

Felix whirled and slapped the trigger twice. The remaining assailant dropped his rifle and tore at the neat holes punched through his red coat. He looked up at Felix, his bizarre green eyes narrowed, his breathing ragged. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his thin-lipped mouth.

Felix shoved the end of the ported slide into the man's face. "Just who the fuck are you?"

The curses stopped. "_Vilg oui_," the man hissed. He wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth and dropped to his knees, his breathing becoming even more shallow. "You… who choose to fight… your sorrow… you will die."

The leering face disappeared in a pink, red, and white mist. The wet spray and larger pieces of tissue sizzled against Felix's pistol and adhered to his forearms. An empty casing tinkled against the concrete and rolled to rest against a perforated crate. He lowered the pistol, and looked back at the carcass of the little girl in a tattered, bloodstained white dress. Blonde hair adhered to her pale face with drying blood. Wide, china-blue eyes stared vacantly into nothingness; glazing over in the hot Spiran sun. Her small, chubby fingers remained wedged into a gap between two stones. Beside her lay her mother and father - their own bullet riddled corpses sprawled at the exit. The iridescent flies buzzing about the scene landed indiscriminately on victim and gunmen alike.

Felix released his finger from the trigger. "Not today, motherfucker," he muttered.

* * *

_"Our breaking story tonight: an attempt on High Summoner Yuna's life at Luca Stadium earlier today. The investigation is underway, but at least ten people have been reported dead, including five gunmen. Confidential sources state that an unknown man, acting alone, is responsible for preventing further loss of life and for ensuring the High Summoner's safety. Further bulletins will follow as events warrant. Stay tuned as…"_

Lulu switched the sphere off. The only light inside the room now came from the full moon shining through the open door, and by the faint glow of an oil lamp. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her gray slacks and low-cut black blouse. "Five," she echoed. "Holy Fayth…"

Yuna wrapped a knitted blanket around her own shoulders. "I watched two of them die," she whispered.

"Yuna… if he hadn't done it, we all would be dead too."

"I know. It's just… it was like watching one of Rikku's machina." Yuna's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I was almost more scared of him than the assassins."

Lulu nodded. "Whatever he did in his world, exactly, it wasn't something pleasant. He said he was a professional guardian. I guess we can believe it now."

"He didn't even flinch." Yuna shivered. "Thank the Fayth he's on our side."

Lulu frowned. "For how long? If he works for whoever pays him…"

"What're you suggesting?"

"I think we need to keep Felix close. He's still not at home in Spira, and you have more enemies in the Council than friends."

"But the money-"

"How much Gil could he need?"

Yuna clutched the blanket tighter. "We can ask him tomorrow. Right now, I think I should thank Felix for what he did."

She stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Felix wrapped the bandage tightly around the gash in his calf. _Fuck. _His hand demanded attention as well; wrapped in gauze but still a source of pain. Grabbing that carbine wasn't the smartest thing Felix had ever done, but it kept him alive. _Yeah, and everyone else in the stadium. _He picked up another roll of gauze and dipped it into the bucket of freshwater from the sink. Felix left the lobby before everyone offered him potions and magical fix-alls; he preferred to take care of his own wounds. He sighed as he bound his burned hand with the dripping gauze. Felix saw the 'sphere', of course. Each standard room came with one. None of the newscasters had any idea _who_ their protector was, but they _did _find eleven bullet-riddled corpses.

He grunted as he made a fist, making sure to wrap the gauze securely. The cuts and small burns covering his shoulders and forearms would need tending to as well. They could wait. Felix stood up, tapped a centimeter or so of his cigarette over the edge of the balcony and limped back inside, slamming the sliding door behind him. He flopped onto the bed. _Fuck, again. _His leg hurt something horrible, and Felix made a mental note to get a potion from Yuna in the morning. His injured pride, along with some minor scrapes, would be just fine by then.

The internal structure of the pistol was similar enough to the Browning Hi-Power in his old sock drawer that Felix could put it back together after a through cleaning. He hoped the manager wouldn't mind finding a half-used, complimentary bar of pink floral soap and bloody toothbrush in the trash.

Felix adjusted his riding, twisted boxers. The pain in both shoulders made it impossible to sleep. He couldn't put pressure or roll over on them. _This is going to be a helluva night. _The sphere on the nightstand clicked on with a soft hum.

_"Here we are, live at the site of today's massacre. The death count is confirmed to be eleven. Two gunmen have been apprehended by the Crusaders, and they are currently undergoing medical treatment for serious burns and gunshot wounds."_

Felix chuckled. _Should've shot the bastards again._

_"Lady Yuna and her entourage-"_

He took a drink from the bottle of sake on the dresser.

_"-are confirmed to be safe and in good condition. The man responsible for stopping the Luca Massacre still has not been located."_

He slapped at the metal rim around the sphere until it turned off. _Still not located - If I'm fuckin' lucky, I'll stay that way._

Someone knocked on his door, and Felix leveled the pistol at the doorway. "Who's there?"

"It's Yuna," the muffled reply came back. "C… can I come in?"

"Yeah," Felix said, stuffing the pistol under his pillow. "Come on in."

She entered with a flutter of white cotton and a knitted blue blanket. "I'm s…. sorry to disturb you."

"I'm fine. Wasn't sleeping anyway. You doing okay?"

Yuna shook her head, her damp chestnut hair waving. "No."

He sat up, wincing from the pain in his leg. "Neither am I. This leg is _killing _me," he said, extinguishing his cigarette on the metal ashtray. "But pain isn't what's bothering you."

"No." She sat down next to him on the bed, leaning back against her elbows. "It's what I saw. The men burning… the little girl…"

"I know. You close your eyes, and that's all you see." Felix blinked, and for a moment… _the _face came back to him. Dark eyes stared at him from behind a battered pistol. Young eyes peered over a tattered, red and white shemagh. Eyes that widened as Felix's rifle went-

"Doesn't it bother _you_?"

"I'm used to it," he lied.

"I can't imagine… what that must be like."

Felix sighed. "You need to get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

Yuna shook her head. "It just… I don't feel…"

Felix rolled off the bed, biting his lip to keep the grunt of pain inside. "Need something to drink?" He asked, reaching for the bottle of sake.

"No," she said. "I'm okay. You… I need to thank you."

"Unh-uh," Felix interjected, shaking his head. "You don't. I did what I've been trained to do."

Yuna managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

"I said don't mention it, but you're welcome. Yuna," he added, rubbing his chin, "how… how _old _are you?"

She smiled again, weaker than before. "Nineteen."

Felix took a swig of sake. "You're awfully young for this shit." _Good thing she didn't take the sake. 'Course, not like 'contributing to the delinquency of a minor' would add all that much to my jacket._

Yuna shook her head. "As High Summoner, my age doesn't matter. All that does is my duty to the people of Spira."

He drummed his fingers on the ceramic bottle. "Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?"

"I… I'm not sure," she admitted, folding her hands. "Lulu… she might need me to stay up with Riko."

"Like hell. You need to get some rest."

"I ca-"

"If it makes you feel safer, you can sleep in here," Felix added, staggering to the chair across from the bed. "I don't mind sleepin' in a chair."

She stepped forward and reached out at Felix. "You're hurt! Let me help you!"

Felix laughed. "I'm fine!" He tapped the bandage on his leg. "Bastard just nicked me, is all. It'll heal up in a few days. I hope."

Yuna frowned. "With a scar. A potion would fix all those right up, you know."

"Scars don't bother me. I've got enough of 'em that I forget where they come from," he smirked. "I think this is the third one from a gunshot."

"_Third_?" Yuna asked, her green and brown eyes wide with either awe or disbelief. "Shouldn't you be dead by now?"

Definitely disbelief.

"That's not what I'd call an appropriate question to ask," Felix replied, his eyes narrowing. "And I'm tired right now."

"I'm sorry for bothering you," she apologized again. "I'll see you in the morning?"

"Yeah," Felix agreed. "In the morning."

* * *

Vichada, Colombia  
May 22nd, 1999 – Eight years ago  
2100 hrs Local Time

Felix squinted. He packed the night vision goggles away some time ago. The lack of _any _ambient light in the Colombian jungle made it impossible to distinguish one shape from another; at least not in the green-tinted haze the goggles provided. He drummed his fingers on the foregrip of his suppressed MP5. The rain drizzled down the leaves of tropical plants and padded on his do-rag. Grenades clanked against each other, their dull knocking blended the more unusual noises of the jungle. He paused to wipe the rain and sweat from his face with a muddy hand. Three days in the jungle, and they still hadn't seen a single sign of guerilla fighters or civilization.

Someone broke radio silence twice, two muffled clicks resounding in Felix's earpiece. _Contact. _He clicked back. _Copy._ Felix peered through the sights of his submachine gun, straining his eyes to pick out the army of guerillas he expected to be lying in ambush. No army lurked in the jungle ahead, just a cluster of huts illuminated by a bonfire. _Time to rock 'n' roll._

He walked in a half-crouch until he met up with a small knot of kneeling men two dozen feet from the village. "Kirk," he whispered. "What's up?"

"Somethin' ain't right," Kirk whispered. "Hollywood took a team out to clear the village. He put us out here on perimeter."

Three clicks on the radio. _Move up._

Felix set his submachine gun to rock 'n' roll. "Let's see what's goin' down."

Felix saw the smoke; pillars of it rose high into the cloudy night. Smoky bonfires were perfectly normal for a jungle village. The disgusting, rotting smell this one gave off was decidedly not. He tapped his finger against the plastic trigger. He could feel that something wasn't right. Death hung over the village in cloud that became more palpable the closer Felix got to the village. The orange flames from the fire cast eerie, flickering shadows; it made the slightest movement translate into jerky silhouettes.

Four clicks. _Clear._

Felix walked into the town circle and fought the urge to vomit. He didn't want to look. Not at the piles of charred, smoking corpses. Not at the infant at the edge of the pile, its small, skeletized hands outstretched to the sky. Not at the small face made even more grotesque by the firelight. Not at the child's mother lying shot to death against a wall, her bruised legs spread wide from their bloody apex. Not at the bleeding, ragged holes in her chest where breasts should be. Not at her head a few feet away. Felix retched, emptying the contents of his stomach into the mud. He staggered back out of the village; his vision blurred and his stomach churned.

The Green Berets at the edge of the jungle nodded silently at him. Their camouflage paint was smeared around their mouths. Felix felt his hands shaking. He squeezed his MP-5 tight enough for his hands to hurt.

Something inside Felix died that day, in the middle of the Colombian jungle. Death was no longer something on the news that he puzzled over and discussed - it was right in his face. His squad had six days left for their mission. Twelve men made a silent oath that they would make every goat-fucking rebel in that jungle wish he never heard of the Green Berets, and wish even more he had never set foot into Vichada, Colombia.


	6. Cafe

Felix awoke from a troubled sleep into a world of pain. The dried gauze on his hand and leg irritated his skin, the cuts on his shoulders stung, his eyes burned, and _goddamn,_ he wanted to sleep. Light streaming through the wide-open window rendered that impossible. He staggered to the bathroom. Shaving with cold water hauled him headfirst into the morning, an experience he never enjoyed. Felix grabbed his now-clean tactical pants from the floor and pulled them on.

After re-wrapping his injuries and stuffing his pistol into his waistband, Felix made his way down the stairs into the galley. He smelled the same kind of meat from breakfast a few days earlier frying on a stove. He sat at the table with a cigarette, which he lit off the lamp on the table. Lulu and Wakka were eating, but nobody said a thing. Silence hung like a black cloud over the table.

Wakka shattered the silence. "We owe you, brudda."

"You're all over the news," Lulu said with a nod toward the inert sphere on the table.

Felix groaned. _Shit. _"They know who I am yet?"

Lulu shook her head. "No. But you aren't exactly unobtrusive. Sooner or later, someone will recognize you."

Felix withdrew the pistol from his pants and dropped into a chair. "Nah. I'll let 'em give the credit to the Crusaders, or to the stadium security, or to Joe Schmo from down the lane." He looked down the gun's sights at a painting on the opposite wall. The pistol had a nice balance to it, with most of the weight centered just above the trigger.

"Brudda, do you really need that?" Wakka asked, gesturing at the pistol. "I mean, we aren't in danger anymore, you know?"

"I had one when I showed up here." Felix blew smoke at the ceiling and set the pistol next to his bare plate. "But I think it fell out on the way."

"'On the way'?"

"Yeah." Felix curled and uncurled his burned hand. "Big ass bird," he said, fumbling for a proper way to describe the _thing _that dropped him into Spira. "_Mmph_… does somebody have an antiseptic?"

Lulu raised an eyebrow. "Quite a subject change. What's an antiseptic?"

"Something to prevent infections. Stings like a bitch, but it helps."

"Infection?"

"Screw it, Felix groaned. "How 'bout a potion?"

Wakka pulled a vial from a pocket of his pants and rolled it across the table. "Here you go, brudda."

"Thanks." Felix drained the bitter liquid, and the pain and wounds dissipated. "Goddamn, I wish we had these back home."

"You don't have potions?"

"Unh-uh. If you got a huge ass cut back home," Felix said, making an imaginary incision down his forearm with his index finger, "they just stitch it back up."

Wakka choked on his eggs. "Brudda, why'd you need to _say_ that? I'm _eating_!"

Lulu cringed. "That sounds… _painful_. And primitive."

"Painful… yeah, that just about describes it." He pointed at a short, stubby scar on his bicep. "Medic didn't have anything to numb me up with that time." Felix felt his jaw tighten at the memory of how a hooked surgical needle felt piercing through his flesh, and how bad he wanted to strangle the medic."So what's the plan for today?" He asked, switching subjects yet again.

"Dunno. No Blitzball today, they closed the stadium down. Maybe we could go see some sights in town, ya?"

"That sounds like fun," Lulu said, adjusting the fit of her gray blouse.

"Want me to go get Yuna?"

Lulu stood up. "I'll go get her. You two go ahead and find something to do until we're all ready to go."

"Ready, brudda?"

"I'll grab my vest." Felix stepped back toward the staircase. "Meet ya outside."

Felix picked his vest up, and bits of broken glass fell to the floor. It smelled like an unholy fusion of alcohol, sweat, melted plastic, and cigarette smoke. He tossed it into the bathroom. _There's no fucking way I'll go unnoticed in that! I'll wash the cover when we get back._ "Damn," he muttered. If he couldn't wear his vest, he needed to find something else to cover the large, grinning, beret-sporting skull on his back. "Hey, Yuna!" He yelled. "Someone got an extra shirt?"

"Unh-uh!"

_Shit. _"Okay." Felix clipped his belt around his waist and dropped his new handgun into the thigh holster. He gave it a wiggle. _A tight fit, but it'll do. _

He stepped outside and locked the door and realized he didn't have a key. _Ah, shit! _"Goddammit, does someone have my room key?"

"I do," Lulu called back. "I forgot to give it to you last night."

Felix shrugged and climbed down the stairs. Lulu shook her head. "Once again, not what I'd call unobtrusive."

"Suits me. 'Sides, not like anyone's going to raise any hell about it," Felix added, tapping the pistol at his hip. "You have my key?"

She flipped him a small brass key. "Here."

"Thanks," Felix said, dropping it into his back pocket. "So where we goin', exactly?"

Yuna bustled down the stairs, tying sleeve-like garments to her forearms. "Somewhere that isn't locked up," she panted. "Sorry I took so long."

"It's okay, Yuna." Lulu assisted Yuna in tying her sleeves. "It's important to look good in the public eye."

"Speaking of 'in the public eye'," Yuna laughed, pointing at Felix, "you might want to wear something besides just pants!"

"I _asked _you if you knew where I could get a shirt!" He protested.

"I don't," she said, "but you need one!"

Wakka handed Felix a gray bundle. "Here, brudda. Just a plain ol' shirt; I hope it fits."

Felix pulled it on over his head, and Yuna giggled again. It fit like one of those dry-wicks he used to wear under his body armor – tight as fuck. "Thanks," he said, pressing his lips together.

"That still leaves your machina."

"I'm taking it; end of discussion." Felix tapped his pistol again. "I've been in more shit than I care to remember because I didn't have a piece on me."

"Piece?" Yuna asked.

"It's another word for a gun - er, machina."

"Some places won't let you in with one," Lulu warned him.

Felix shrugged. "Some people are dickheads. Ain't nothin' we can do about it, and I'm _not _carrying this goddamn thing in my pants the whole day."

"So just don't carry it."

"Yuna, would you go anywhere ass naked?"

"What kind of-"

"_Would_ you?"

Yuna sighed. "No."

"Exactly," Felix said, latching and unlatching the holster's thumb break. "I'm naked without one."

"That's not the-"

"Yes, it is."

"It's your choice," Lulu interjected, "but I do need to warn you again. Spirans do _not _take kindly to people carrying machina."

* * *

Felix grunted his irritation as he grabbed a 'soft' pack of cigarettes from a low shelf. Normally he enjoyed the badass factor that went along with carrying a piece in public, but in Spira his pistol seemed like a billboard with "give me shit" written on it in six-foot-high, day-glow orange letters. He finished giving the visual finger to the rest of the store's patrons before turning to Yuna. "You could've warned me about the attention _before _we left the hotel," he sighed.

"If I'm not mistaken," Yuna said, "Lulu did."

"Yeah, in a way." Felix selected a pair of sunglasses from a rotating display and placed them on his face. They blocked out the blazing Spiran sun, and hid his eyes. _Ain't as good as my Oakleys, but they'll do._ "Hey, how much for these?"

The storeowner shook his head. "We don't serve-"

"Listen. This is the third fucking time someone's refused to serve me," Felix said as he leaned over the counter. "I'm not a goddamn Al-Bhed. I need a pair of sunglasses and a pack of smokes. You sell 'em both. Ain't a huge leap to make."

Yuna placed a hand on his shoulder. "Felix, relax. Sir, he's with me. You can be assured of that."

"Oh! My Lady, I didn't realize-"

"Please just let him buy what he needs, sir." Yuna sounded exasperated.

_Who wouldn't be?_

"Six Gil for the glasses, ten Gil for the cigarettes. A discount for friends of Lady Yuna!"

Felix slid a coin across the counter. "Keep the change." _Asshole_.

Yuna sighed as they walked off. "_Must _you wear that?"

He adjusted the position of his sunglasses. "This shirt, or the gun?"

"The gun," she said, crossing her arms. "It hasn't exactly made life easy."

"Yuna, _living _hasn't exactly made life easy." Felix sliced the pack of cigarettes open with his knife. _Unfiltered. _"Got a light?"

"No. I can only cast white magic, not black."

Felix shot her a protected glance. "Explain."

"White magic is the art of-"

"Remember the 'nutshell' version I asked for before? Let's hear it again."

Yuna sighed. "White magic heals. Black magic does damage."

"And Lulu…"

"She's the most experienced black mage left in Spira."

"And the only one who can light cigarettes," Felix chuckled.

"There aren't a lot of smokers in Spira, as you might have noticed."

_Come to think of it… those shelves in the store looked pretty full._ "Thought's crossed my mind."

"So there isn't much call for a way to light them."

"Here's a little tip," Felix sighed. "I'm not somebody you want to spend much time around when I don't have a smoke. So I'm finding a way to light up."

"I see," Yuna said, stroking her chin.

"Can't quit." He dropped the pack into his pocket and placed the unlit cigarette in his mouth. "Tried to enough, failed enough. You learn to live with it."

"Hmm."

"I had a lighter in my gear, but that shit's all gone."

"How desperately do you need one right now?"

"Scale of one to ten?"

Yuna nodded.

"Six." A young couple crossed the street to avoid Felix, transfixing him with angry glares and Yuna with looks of suspicion. "Screw that. Eight."

Yuna laughed. "I hope that it doesn't get _too _bad _too _fast."

"Keep the circus out of my face, and we've got a deal." Felix rubbed at his whiskers. "Where'd Lulu say she was goin', anyway?"

"Her and Wakka took Riko to his first game," Yuna said, brushing her hair from her eyes. "But I figured you wouldn't be too interested in that."

"You should've gone. Y'guys are close."

"And leave _you _wandering around alone? You'd probably kill someone," she quipped, before something wiped the smile from her lips.

"I might kill someone anyway if I don't get my – hey, what is it?"

"Here come the reporters," Yuna groaned, staring at the ground. "Fayth. I hoped this would be a quiet day."

"Lady Yuna! Lady Yuna, what are _your _thoughts on yesterday's events?" The reporter elbowed her way past Felix to thrust a triangular microphone into Yuna's face. "Did you see the men responsible? Do you know who stopped the attack?"

Yuna's amicable response surprised Felix. "I did not see the person responsible for stopping the attack, but they have my eternal gratitude." She turned and began walking towards a large, ornate building nestled in a recessed alleyway. "Please excuse me."

Felix shook his head and shoved the microphone wielder aside as he followed Yuna. _Fuckin' media. _"Handled that pretty well," he said.

"Perhaps." Yuna took a seat at a table near the door. "I'm sure Shaami is disappointed, though. I always hate to refuse interviews."

"Ain't your job to give 'em a good story," Felix chuckled. "'Sides, that little official statement probably made her day."

"Perhaps."

Felix tapped his unlit cigarette on the table. "Thanks."

"For?"

He grunted as he leaned against the stone wall. "For not fingering me as the guy."

"I thought you wouldn't want the attention," Yuna said, lacing her fingers together. "I did good?"

"Yeah. So what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"Riko's game should be just about over, so I asked Lulu and Wakka to meet us here. Think you can hold out?"

"A smoke would help," Felix laughed, "but I should be fine. So what exactly do you do again?"

"I used to be High Summoner. After the defeat of Sin, it became pretty much just a figurehead position, you know?" Yuna smiled. "They _did _carve a statue of me on Mount Gagazet, though. The Ronso gave me a big horn."

Felix choked. "A _what?_"

"A horn," she explained, gesturing to show how far the horn extended from the statue's forehead. "The bigger the horn, the tougher the Ronso."

"Ronso?"

Yuna laughed. "Kimahri Ronso is coming for a visit in a few weeks. You'll see what I mean when you meet him."

"Fair enough. So the horn is kind of an homage, right?"

"Most of the Ronso died two years ago defending me. Kimahri and the four other survivors are helping to restore their people."

_Whoa. A whole race being repopulated by five people?_ 'Dueling Banjos' began to play in Felix's head.

"After my pilgrimage, the Ronso decided to build the statue in my honor. The horn was their idea."

"Say, Yuna?"

"Yes?"

"What's with all the orb things around here?"

Yuna raised an eyebrow. "They don't have spheres where you come from?"

"Well," Felix said, "kind of. We have spheres, as in balls, but not the glowing… floating… you get the idea."

"Hmm. Well, we don't know _exactly _how they work," Yuna admitted, "but some of them provide light, some record images and sounds, and some play back your memories."

"Play back your memories."

"Yes."

Felix shook his head. After some of the shit he'd seen so far, magical orbs that could access your memories and play them back in a visible form didn't seem all that improbable. "Crazy shit."

"We can go to the Sphere Theater later, if you'd like."

"Sounds like a-"

Someone bumped into him from behind. "Please pardon," the man said, a heavy accent of unknown origin interrupting his speech. He edged his way past Felix and into the center of the crowded café.

Felix tensed.

The man had blonde hair, shaved close to his head.

His green irises swirled.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. _"Yuna," he said as calmly as he could, "why don't we go see something at that theater now?"

"When Lulu and Wakka-"

"No, I mean _now._" Felix slipped his pistol from the thigh holster, making sure that his actions weren't visible to anyone. He didn't need some rubbernecking patron to go apeshit at the sight of a gun. "Now would be an _excellent _time to leave." The man swaggered back to Felix and Yuna's table. _Shit. Turn the fuck around, asshole. Turn around. Turn ar-_

"Felix, what are you-"

The man grabbed Felix by the shoulder. "No leave," he ordered. "You sit. Yuna sit." He pulled a pistol from inside his blue jacket. "EVERYONE SIT!"

_Fuck!_

The man turned, probably to make sure nobody tried to sneak out the back of the store. Felix saw his chance. The top of his head disappeared in a cloud of pink and red mist. Felix grabbed Yuna by her sash and hauled her to her feet.

And then the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.

Two more men rushed in through the front door, each carrying a handgun. Felix flipped the table to the ground as cover. Three shots ricocheted off the marble tabletop. _One fucking magazine._ Felix pushed Yuna behind a thick stone partition. "You stay the fuck down!" He ordered, pinning her to the ground with his knee.

More screaming.

A man in a green jacket clenched his neck and slid down the wall to the floor. Arterial spurts emanated from between his fingers.

_Shit! _Felix crumpled another gunman with a pair of poorly aimed shots. The wound on his hand had reopened. One shot went low and hit the gut. The other went into the throat.

Four more gunmen rushed in the front door.

Felix dragged Yuna behind a different partition. If he could get to a corner of the store without getting iced, he'd be able to hold-

A high-pitched whistle blew outside.

Three men in armor sailed through the door wielding hooked swords. The blades hissed through the air in tight arcs. Clean, professional looking cuts severed heads and limbs. Felix flashed his eyes from gunmen to swordsmen. He'd have to drop the fuckers if they-

"Hey! DROP IT!" The man ordered, brandishing his sword.

"Like hell I'll drop it," Felix snarled, glaring down the sights. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Crusaders!"

_Good. _Felix gestured with his pistol at the floor. "Who the fuck are these bastards?"

The Crusader tightened his grip on the sword. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"Bullshit," Felix growled. "I've dealt with these assholes before. Who are they?"

"_You're _the one who stopped the massacre?"

"Yes," Yuna whimpered from the ground. "He… he is."

The Crusader shifted his weight toward Felix. "_Lady Yuna_ is here?"

"No shit," Felix snapped. He slipped his finger out of the trigger guard. "We're on the same side."

"It appears so." The man stepped over a bleeding, headless body and extended his hand. "Wedge."

"Diesel."

The two men shared a firm handshake. "So, _Diesel_, what the Fayth happened here?"

Felix stuck his pistol back into his holster. "Prick in the blue jacket," he said, pointing at the semi-headless corpse at his feet, "pulls out a piece and starts waving it around. I drop him, and then two of his buddies come through the door. I nail one, then another four come through the door. That's when you boys showed up."

One of the attackers sat against a wall, holding his stump of an arm and whimpering in his native language. Felix walked over and jabbed his thumb into the back of the man's jaw. The green irises of the eyes that flashed open swirled in a strange pattern. "Yeah," Felix said, "these are the same motherfuckers as before."

Wedge crouched next to Felix. "Huh," he grunted. "Interesting."

"What?"

"I can't discuss-"

"Don't pull that thin blue line shit on me. I saved your Summoner's life twice."

"Thanks, but sorry."

_Whatever, asshole. _Felix picked up one of the pistols from the blood-spattered tile. Like his own, the handgun was jet black, with white stippled grips. He ejected the magazine and compared the gold cartridge to the silver one from his own. _Same size, different color._ "Hey, you need these?"

"What, the machina?"

"Yeah."

"We usually just destroy 'em when we find one."

"I'm hangin' on to this," Felix said, waving the magazine.

"Help yourself," Wedge replied. "You seem pretty handy with one," he added, his eyes narrowed.

Felix ignored the remark and busied himself removing the magazines from the other two pistols. "Yuna!" He called out.

Yuna stepped out from cover. She walked toward Felix. "Y… yes?" She asked, wiping a smear of blood from a scrape on her cheek.

"Where the fuck are Lulu and Wakka?"

As if on cue, Lulu, Wakka, and Riko walked through the front door. At the sight of the blood, Lulu clamped a hand over Riko's eyes and led the protesting child away. Wakka stood and gaped at the disfigured, bleeding corpses and the alive, sputtering man in the corner. "Holy Fayth! Brudda, what the hell happened here?"

Felix pointed to Yuna. "The same guys from the stadium came back to finish what they started."

Wakka rushed to Yuna's side and began examining her for injuries. "Yuna, you okay? Anything hurt?" He frowned as he saw her face closer. "Did you-"

"I'm fine." She gagged at the bodies on the floor and looked back at Felix. "Are… are we leaving now?"

Two more Crusaders walked through the door and began giving Felix the eye. Wedge stood and waved them off. "We got it," he said. "Secure the street. Lady Yuna, Diesel, you're all free to go. Just get ready to be all over the news."

* * *

"_—And so, the identity of those responsible for the attack on the café and on Luca Stadium has still not been confirmed by the Crusaders. Lady Yuna is reported to be safe once again, thanks to the efforts of a man who chose to be identified only as 'Diesel'. Diesel has also been reported as the man whose actions allegedly saved the lives of countless Blitzball fans only yesterday. This has been Shaami, with-"_

Yuna shut the sphere off. Twice now, Felix had saved her life. Twice now, he refused to accept any credit or thanks for it. Twice now, she watched him put someone to death. She wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling of her cabin. Wakka lay sprawled in a chair in one corner, snoring lightly, one hand wrapped around his bladed Blitzball. Lulu sat near him, curled into a ball, her head nestled against Wakka's leg. Yuna sighed. The wetness in her eyes distorted the emotionless '3:12' displayed by the small sphere on the nightstand. She got out of bed and shambled to the door.

She closed it gently behind her so as not to wake the sleeping couple in the room, and sighed again. Small, winking lights twinkled under the pincushion sky as an offering to the soon-to-rise sun. The spotlights on the Blitzball stadium shone brightest of all, their columns of light reflected off thin, high-flying, gray clouds. Small moths flitted through the warm night air, alighting on illuminated patches of the boathouse's wall. She leaned over the banister and looked out at the water, its glassy surface undisturbed by the bustle of Luca.

Yuna placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

"Where _are _you?" She whispered.

Yuna wiped her eyes and whistled again.

* * *

Felix pointed the pistol at the sphere on the far wall and pulled the trigger. The soft _click _reassured him that he reassembled it in the proper manner. He sighed and tossed the weapon onto his bed. He still couldn't get any sleep. The split lip hurt like a bitch, and he punished himself for his stupidity by not reaching for the potion resting on the nightstand. _It'll heal_, he reassured himself. _Just don't bitch about it._

Far behind the ship, the city of Luca continued to go about its business, blissfully unaware that a beat-to-shit mercenary with a busted lip had saved the life of Spira's High Summoner not once, but _twice._ He could see the reporters inventing story after story about 'Diesel'. He chuckled and popped open another bottle of sake. It stung when it touched his lip and made Felix wince, but he knocked it back anyway. Pain meant he survived. He cracked his knuckles. The boat left Luca en-route to Besaid shortly after the incident at the café, and Yuna said she planned to stay home for a while. The same whistling noise as a few nights earlier echoed through the cabins, and Felix sighed. _I oughta go see what's eatin' her. _He stepped out of his cabin and shut the door.

Yuna leaned over the banister on one side of the deck, whistling at the empty ocean.

"Hey," Felix whispered. "You okay?"

She turned. Her white bedclothes stood out on the otherwise dim night. "I'm… I'm fine."

Felix stood next to her and crossed his arms. "Why do you do that?"

Yuna wiped her eyes. "Do what?"

"Whistle at the water."

"It's… it's a promise I made to somebody." She sniffed hard and stared out at the ocean. "I intend to keep it."

"Sir Tidus, or Sir Auron?"

"Tidus," Yuna said, pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry, I… I just want to be alone right now."

"I'll respect that," he said as he ambled back to the cabins. Felix felt a twinge of guilt as another whistle sounded behind him.

* * *

Chicago, Illinois  
June 12, 2000  
0100 hrs Local Time

The yellow façade on the front of the building was faded with age and beginning to crumble. The plaster fell away from the cinder block and mortar core. The dirty windows climbed up the housing projects in neat little rows that ended at the antenna and billboard studded roof. Small planters full of pink flowers hung from some of the windows, and Felix couldn't help but wonder that anything beautiful could come out of this hellhole. The Bronco's engine sputtered when Felix withdrew the tarnished key from the ignition. He thrust a small bouquet of plastic roses into his pocket, and after making sure the doors were locked, stepped out of the battered gray Ford.

His rubber-soled combat boots made contact with the cracked, chalk-adorned concrete of the sidewalk in front of the boarding house he moved out of eight years ago. Felix could still remember the glares on faces peering at him from windows and shops, whispering to each other about the man barred from Mass. He sighed.

The air smelled like stale cigarette smoke. It permeated every piece of clothing he owned. The street was mostly empty. The building's predominantly Catholic inhabitants were taking Communion somewhere. Small pockets of kids wearing jeans and baggy shirts reminded Felix that 36th Street was, indeed, still alive.

Broken glass snapped under his feet as he walked along the asphalt. 'Danny's Diner' was gone, replaced by a national bookstore chain. A yellow 'under construction' placard hung from the front doorknob. The 'for sale or rent' sign dangling from the smashed front window of The Keg waved to him in a solemn, faded pink salute. Eight years sent 36th Street shambling down the road to urban decay. Nowhere was it as blatant as in the faded neon signs still adorning many of the buildings, advertising gentleman's clubs and other establishments no longer open for business.

Behind a decrepit church lay a small plot of overgrown, grassy land that served as the resting-place for those unfortunate enough to die in downtown Chicago. He walked to the easternmost corner and stood over the graves. Yellow flowering weeds haphazardly adorned the ground around the headstone. He kneeled and sighed. Michelle was supposed to keep the graves trimmed and flowers fresh. _Guess she couldn't take a break to take care of Mom and Dad. _Felix ran his fingers over the eroding granite and read the fading letters.

_ROBERTO FELIX DIMARCO_

_LOVING FATHER AND HUSBAND_

_1924-1998_

_MARIA ANGELO DIMARCO_

_BELOVED MOTHER AND WIFE_

_1920-1997_

Felix bent over the grassy mound, pulling the faded plastic roses from the tarnished brass vase that held them upright. Inside the hollow of the vase he placed a pair battered dog tags and the new plastic bouquet.

He did what he came for.

Felix ambled back to the Bronco, amazed and disenchanted at the changes wrought on his neighborhood. A knot of tough-looking kids surrounded his truck, leaning against it as though it were a neighborhood fixture. He shook his head. Even the gangs had changed since he left.

"'Sup, homes? This your ride?"

He sighed. "Listen. I'm not in the mood for any bullshit. I'm leaving _now._"

"_Cabron,_ you seem a little confused about-"

"I grew up here, back when Mrs. Kowalewski owned the place. Room twenty-one, second floor."

One of the boys pointed at the building. "_Vente-uno… _You know Shells?"

"Her brother."

The boys stepped away from his truck. "Hey, _compadre,_ we don't want no trouble, okay?"

"Right." Felix dropped into his seat and put the key in the ignition. The Ford coughed to life. As he pulled away and set the flowers on the cracked dashboard, he wondered just how much his twin sister told the boys about him.


	7. Mercenary

Something landed on Felix's throbbing head. It smelled like stale flowers, alcohol, and sweat. He flung it in the general direction of the door. "The fuck you want?" He groaned. "You have _any _idea how goddamn early it is?" _Sake always gives me the hangover from hell!_

Yuna laughed. "Not as early as you think! We just docked in Besaid."

"Thank you _so very much _for the information." Felix rolled out of bed and pulled the blinds on the cabin window up. The sun glared into the otherwise darkened room, and Felix closed his eyes again. "Dammit," he growled. He turned to ask Yuna just why the _hell _she felt the need to get him up, and Felix burst into laughter as he realized why she was covering her eyes.

Apparently, he should wear something other than just boxers when around her.

"Sorry," Felix laughed, pulling on his pants.

"It's… okay. Are you… um… _decent_?"

"Yeah." He grabbed his belt from the floor and pulled his pistol from under his pillow. "What'd you hit me with?"

"Your vest. Lulu washed it." Yuna scratched her chin. "What are those pads in it for?"

"Armor." Felix took his vest from Yuna. "Thanks for washing it. You _did _take the armor out first, right?"

"Yes. It wouldn't fit in the wash with them in."

"Thanks for putting 'em back in, too."

"Must be fairly weak armor, if it's that thin."

"Stops bullets," Felix chuckled. "I know, I know, I didn't trust it at first either. Saved my ass a handful of times, so it works pretty goddamn good."

Yuna shrugged. "Do you remember where your hut is?"

"Up by the huge-ass church."

"The temple in the village, yes. That's where we're staying as well."

"Temporary lodging?"

She shook her head. "Wakka, Lulu, and I live in the village. You're more than welcome to stay there, as well."

Felix reached into his pants pocket and flipped Yuna one of his coins. "How much that coin worth?"

Yuna glanced at it. "A hundred Gil," she replied. "Why?"

"Keep it."

"I have eno-"

"It's my rent. I owe you for givin' me a pad."

"Pad?"

"Quarters."

"It's the village guest shelter," Yuna laughed. "You don't have to pay rent!"

Felix shrugged. "Keep it anyway. I ran up a helluva tab."

She giggled again. "I've never met _anyone _who could drink so much sake!" Yuna seemed to remember something painful again before changing the subject. "There's something I should warn you about."

"Shoot."

"In Spira… it's very… _unusual _for the High Summoner to be constantly around someone who isn't their guardian."

"Or someone like me."

"Or someone like you," she agreed. "So… I'd like to ask if… you'd be willing to be one of my guardians."

Felix rubbed his shoulder. "I'll let you know before tonight," he said. He wasn't about to talk business right after waking up – shit, he hadn't even had a smoke yet! "Tonight," Felix repeated. "Now how about some breakfast?"

* * *

He tossed his belt onto the unmade bed. "Home sweet home, I guess." Felix slipped his pistol from the holster and stuffed it into the back of his waistband. "His" tent remained exactly the same as when he left, right down to the cluttered shelves and a circular stain on the rug from where Felix's muddy gear sat. He tugged the blankets on his low bed into an arrangement that wouldn't have passed even the most liberal inspection. Felix _tried _not to give a shit about that after leaving the Army, but he still had to fight a quiet urge to neaten his room before the Cap-o came in and chewed some serious ass.

His own ass _still_ had bite marks from violating Captain Garcia's OCD-driven neatness standards.

Felix exited his tent again. A brown dog tore past Felix, and he jumped to the side. A small boy hurried by in pursuit. Yuna stood at the entrance to the temple, talking with a hunchbacked old man in a green robe. The old man stared at Felix for a long time before shaking his head and shambling off.

"The hell was that about?" Felix asked as he jogged over to Yuna.

"It's nothing. So your quarters are… satisfactory?"

"Yuna, I've slept in much worse places."

"That's a yes?" She asked.

"Yeah. They're just fine." Felix leaned against a pillar of the temple. "So what's the plan for today?"

"I'd like to have a quiet evening at home. Sound good?"

"Sure." Felix placed the unlit cigarette in his mouth and turned to look for Lulu. "We'll talk about it over dinner." He sauntered back through the village, glancing into each tent to find the one person in the goddamn capable of striking a flame. Lulu sat on a small log next to Riko, the small boy busying himself with an assortment of brightly colored toys. "Hey, Lulu!"

She turned and smiled. "Hi, Felix. Need something?"

"Yeah, a light."

"Here," she said, taking the cigarette from Felix's hand. Lulu lit it as easily as before, but this time she extended a slender flame from her thumb.

"Shit," Felix said, aiming a cloud of smoke into the jungle away from Riko, "that _still_ gets me."

"Not everyone can cast black magic," Lulu admitted, "but I've become rather skilled at it."

"Is that what I need to learn to light up? Magic?"

Lulu laughed. "I don't think _you_ can learn it!"

Felix's face turned a dark red, and his eyes narrowed. "I'm not _stupid._"

"That's not what I meant," Lulu apologized, hurriedly. "I meant that only certain people have the natural gift to cast. If you aren't born with it…"

Felix grunted.

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"No, it's okay." Felix smiled down at Riko. "Hey little guy. Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm battling fiends! Wanna play?"

"Ooh, Yuna wants me to help her with something. Tell you what, though. I'll come and play with you some other time."

Riko grinned. "Okay!"

Felix straightened. "Lulu, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."

"Yuna wants me on security."

She frowned. "Did she ask you?"

"Yeah." He blew another cloud of smoke. "Thing is, I'm not sure she knows what the hell she's doing."

"Yuna's been through more than you know."

"With all respect, whatever it was wasn't enough." Felix crossed his arms. "She locked up under fire. Not something I'd expect from a girl who defeated something that could wipe out entire cities."

Lulu narrowed her eyes. "You are comparing two things that can't be compared."

"Apples and oranges?"

"Possibly." She looked over her shoulder at Riko before continuing. "You can't judge her based on your world's standards. She defied ancient teachings-"

"I've heard the story."

She put her hands on her hips. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"Let's just say I find the whole thing very improbable."

"_I_ was one of her guardians."

Felix leaned forward. "So why the hell didn't you back me up?"

"I can cast magic on fiends," Lulu said, jabbing a finger into Felix's chest. "Or on Sinspawn. Do you know what it's like to watch a man-"

Felix grabbed her thin wrist. "Don't _ever _get physical with me unless you _mean _it," he warned. "And I've _killed_ too many people for you to try and play the sympathy card here." He released his grip.

Lulu balled her fists and hissed. "I was_ scared,_ okay?"

Felix frowned. "Scared?"

"The children's area of the stadium is just across the way from the V.I.P boxes. I thought that-"

Felix shook his head. "I get it."

"Besides, I couldn't let Yuna see me do that. She's always looked to me as kind of an older sister. It's my job to look out for her. If she watched me kill someone, I don't know that she would trust me anymore."

"You implying she doesn't trust _me_?"

"I didn't mean anything other than what I said," Lulu scowled.

"In which case, you still didn't explain why Yuna froze. Or why _you _froze."

Lulu frowned. "She wasn't very involved in any combat during the pilgrimage. The other Guardians and I saw to it that she never had to fight anything _directly_."

"Yuna _always_ lets someone else fight her battles?"

Lulu scowled. "That's not what I meant."

"I don't like being led in circles, which is what you're trying right now. It ain't gonna fuckin' work."

"I'm not doing anything other than trying to explain something that is _very _difficult to explain."

"You're doing one shitty-ass job of it," Felix said. "So Yuna can't fight, is that your point? That _still _doesn't explain why _you _didn't help me."

"Yuna grew up without parents. Wakka and I looked out for her, as did Kimahri Ronso."

"Heard about him. What's this got to do with-"

"I'm the closest thing to a mother Yuna's ever had. If her happiness matters to you _at all_, you'll not mention this conversation to her."

Felix sighed. "It doesn't. I'm not getting paid to be a shrink. Hell, I'm not getting paid at all. I won't say anything to Yuna, though. Not because you told me not to, or because it'll hurt her feelings, but because I still don't have a fucking clue what's going on. Getting an up-front answer here is like ordering a Whopper at McFilthy's," he spat. He knew Lulu wouldn't have any idea about McDonald's, or fast food in general, but that didn't matter. The point would get across.

"_What_?"

"Nevermind, goddammit. I'd just like an answer that doesn't come in riddle form for once."

"Would you like me to sound it out for you?"

"Would you like _another _stick shoved up your ass?" Felix leaned forward. "I'm sure I could arrange for that."

"You _touch _me, and you won't know what hit you."

"I'm sorry," Felix said, "didn't you _just _tell me that you _can't_ cast magic on people?"

"I _hate _to, but you're _twanging_ my last nerve right now."

"Want I should bust out a saw and speed things along?"

Lulu scowled. "You are, without a doubt, the _biggest_ _asshole_ I have ever had the misfortune to come across."

"Yeah? You and Tracy would get along great." Felix turned and began walking toward his tent. _Some women need to learn when to shut the fuck up._

"I don't see _why _Yuna would want a mercenary like-"

Felix clenched his fists. "You better just shut the fuck up right now."

"Are you threatening me?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Call me that again, bitch, and you'll fuckin' find out."

"If Wakka heard-"

As he walked, Felix stuck his middle finger in the air to let Lulu know _exactly _what he thought of her threat.

* * *

Yuna, Felix, Wakka, and Lulu sat around a low table in the center of Yuna's hut. The meat and vegetables didn't taste all that foreign. The meat had a little gaminess to it, the greens were thick, and the white beans in a large bowl tasted like horseradishes. Which, unfortunately, Felix never liked. _Oh well. Food is fuel._

Felix pushed his plate away. "So," he asked, lighting another cigarette, "who was the old bastard from this morning?"

Yuna dabbed at a corner of her mouth with a napkin. "_High Priest_ Silber wanted to meet with me about a small issue." She took a drink from her mug. "Why?"

"High Priest, huh? He oughta see about gettin' you some proper protection," Felix remarked, ignoring her question.

Yuna folded her arms. "A little presumptuous, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. I dealt with this kind of thing all the time. It was, you know, my_ job_."

"Speaking of which," Yuna mused, "would you… want to do it again?"

Felix squinted at her. Was this her way of asking for a contract? "Explain."

Yuna coughed.

"_Please _explain."

"Thank you," Yuna said, clasping her hands. "Now… how long were you a professional guardian?"

"Two years. Served ten in Special Forces, so I got twelve years of combat experience. Never spent more than a couple months stateside at a time."

"Stateside?"

"In the rear, with the gear and the beer. Safe."

"Ah. Um… Special Forces?"

Felix sighed. "Like Crusaders times ten."

"Oh." Yuna's eyes widened. "I see. And you did that for _ten_ _years_?"

"S'what I said," Felix chuckled, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the tent and honoring Yuna's request that he not smoke up the hut.

"Hmm." Yuna spun her ring around her finger. "I'd like you to… um, I'm not sure how to phrase this, actually, but-"

"You want to hire me." Felix crossed his arms. She'd mentioned it earlier, sure, but he didn't think she'd have the guts to _actually _ask that of him after the other day. _She knows what she needs, though._ "Don't see why not." Felix drummed his fingers on the table. "What're you offering?"

"Uh… offering?"

Felix laughed. "This ain't a charity!"

Yuna's face turned a dark pink. "Ah, we can, um, discuss payment at a later date?" She offered.

"How does one thousand every two weeks sound?" Lulu asked.

Felix's eyes narrowed. If Lulu wanted to handle the charges, that meant she would most likely be whom he answered to on assignment. Yuna seemed to bow to Lulu's experience, which gave rise to small concerns in the pit of Felix's stomach. _If that bitch's employing me, that means I take her orders, not Yuna's. Huh. I wonder if Yuna knows that. _"Eight," he demanded, flicking some ash out of the tent.

Wakka choked. "Four thousand Gil a _week_? Brudda, I was a pro Blitzer, and I-"

"I made two hundred thousand a _year_ back home," Felix argued. He neglected to mention that after Blacktip, Uncle Sam, and Uncle Sam's legal gimps told his salary to grab its ankles, he was left with less than sixty thousand bucks a year.

"Five," Lulu offered, reluctantly.

"Seven."

"Six," Yuna interjected.

Lulu whipped around.

Even if _she _didn't know, Yuna just saved herself the trouble of having her security detail under someone else's orders. "Sold," Felix said, flashing Lulu a grin. _Eat me._

Yuna withdrew a small pouch from her sash and set it onto the table. "There's twelve thousand Gil," she said, spinning her ring.

Felix reached for the pouch, but Wakka stopped his hand. "That's four weeks," he said, warily. "What happens after that? You just gonna bail on us, Brudda?"

Felix narrowed his eyes. "Are you calling my integrity into question?" He demanded. "Yuna hired me. My ass stays put until she says otherwise. That's how this relationship works." He blew another cloud of smoke. "Now, don't take that as a sign that I'll work for free, because I won't." He slid the pouch towards himself and dropped it into his pocket.

Lulu sighed. "I guess you're one of Yuna's guardians, now." The bitterness and anger in her voice were covered over by a smile transparent to Felix.

"Good to have you on board, brudda." Wakka shook Felix's hand. "'Course, _you_ get paid."

"Damn right I get paid," Felix chuckled. _Lulu's gotta be enjoying this. _He turned his attention to Yuna. "So, mind filling me in on what, exactly, this contract entails?"

"Well," Yuna said, spinning her ring on her finger, "what did you usually do?"

Felix stretched his arms out. "My job changes from contract to contract. Training local militias and police, defending shit, escorting convoys through hostile territory, logistical support for friendly countries, V.I.P protection – actually, that's really what you're asking for."

"V.I.P?"

"Very Important Person," Felix explained.

"What did that _entail_?"

"I was their guardian for as long as they needed."

"And they paid you?" Lulu asked.

He responded with a grunt.

"So," Yuna said, "what's your first, um, act?"

Felix laughed. "You're the boss, Yuna. You tell me."

* * *

Felix grunted as he rubbed his eyes. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't get to sleep. He grabbed his pistol from under the pillow and stuffed it into his pants as he ducked out of the hut and into the darkness.

Riko ran around the fire in the center of the village, singing something about Blitzball and Sin. Lulu and Yuna sat on a low log outside a hut, and Lulu checked over her shoulder every now and again to keep an eye on Riko. Wakka was nowhere in sight.

Yuna stood up as Felix approached. "Something wrong? You're up awfully late."

"Nah. Just can't sleep." He leaned against one of the narrow trunks that made up the timberline surrounding the village. Felix sighed. "What's keepin' you up?"

Lulu nodded at Riko. "He needed to work off some energy before turning in. I let Wakka sleep."

"Wasn't talking to you."

"I'm keeping Lulu company," Yuna said, swatting a bug away. She shot Felix a look that reminded him to play nice.

"Sounds like fun," Felix commented as he adjusted the pistol in his waistband. "What's the deal with the reporters?"

Lulu raised an eyebrow.

Felix refused to acknowledge the gesture. He bladed himself toward Lulu and continued his conversation with Yuna. "Anybody know who I am yet?"

Yuna chuckled. "No, _Diesel_, nobody knows who you _really_ are."

"Good. Last thing I need is a microphone shoved in my face."

"Why don't you tell them?" Yuna asked.

"Because I don't do what I do for recognition." Felix kneeled down in front of the fire, lit a cigarette, and took a few puffs. "I do it because I need to. If I was in it for the glory… shit, let's just say I wouldn't have made some of the decisions I have."

"Such as?"

Felix turned and narrowed his eyes at Lulu. "Ain't your business," he growled.

"I thought you'd be ready to trust us by now," Lulu said.

Yuna nodded.

"I didn't tie my tent shut last night. That's trust enough."

"Felix," Yuna said, "I-"

"I don't mean _you_," Felix interrupted.

Yuna spun her ring.

"You should at _least _tell us something about yourself."

"I don't think so," Felix said. "I like Yuna, don't get me wrong, but I'm still not opening up. Besides," he added, "Yuna's my _employer_ now." _Blow me, Lulu. I'm not telling _you_ shit._

Yuna frowned. "Usually, a Guardian and a Summoner have some kind of connection."

"We do," Felix chuckled. "It's called Gil."

"Right," Lulu said, narrowing her eyes. "Spoken like a true mercenary."

"If you're going to keep being such a bitch," Felix growled, "you can pitch in when payday rolls around." He blew a cloud of smoke at Lulu. "Otherwise, _you_ can go and _bone_ yourse-"

"Felix, Lulu!" Yuna snapped. "I will _not _tolerate this kind of hostility! You are _both _my Guardians, and that means that some semblance of _teamwork _is necessary."

Felix shrugged. "You're the boss."

"As you wish." Lulu stood up from her seat. "I think Riko's ready for bed, now." She waved to her son and started for one of the huts. "Goodnight, Yuna."

"Goodnight, Lulu. See you in the morning."

Felix took another puff. "Christ, who put sand up _her_-"

"_Felix!_"

"Sorry. Point stands."

"I think she's just tired," Yuna sighed. "And the stress of the last few days is showing on all of us."

"Sure. So Lulu copes with stress by bitching at the guy who saved _her_ life once and _your _life _twice_?"

"Felix," Yuna warned, "I _told_ you-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But still, Wakka oughta just nail the _shi_-"

"Felix."

He shrugged, and changed the subject. "What's on the menu for tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid there isn't much to do in Besaid," Yuna admitted. "But I can show you around, and Wakka can teach you the basics of Blitzball."

"Why do I need to learn that?"

"It's a great way to pass the time. I tried it once, but I wasn't any good." Yuna's face fell for a moment. "I'm sure you'll do just fine," she said, the temporarily absent smile leaping back into place.

"Wakka said he was a pro?"

"_Was._ He retired two years ago to be my full-time guardian. Now he just coaches Riko's team, and helps the Aurochs train their new recruits."

"The Aurochs were his old team?"

Yuna smiled. "They were the _worst_ team in Spira's history. For as long as anyone could remember, the Aurochs never won a single game. That all changed when… it changed." She stared into the fire and blinked rapidly. "Star player," she mumbled. "Nobody saw it coming."

"Gotta love the underdogs, eh?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yes, something like that."

Felix flicked ash at a bug crawling through the sand. "I've heard a thing or two about the 'Al-Bhed'. Think you could fill me in?"

Yuna laughed. "I was wondering when you'd ask. Al-Bhed are a race of desert people that live on an island – Bikanel, to be exact – in the west. They're really the only ones left in Spira who use machina."

Felix narrowed his eyes at the fire.

Yuna seemed to register what Felix was thinking. "No," she said, "I don't think it was them. It's no secret anymore that I'm part Al-Bhed," she added, pointing at her green eye. As Felix looked closer, he noticed that it swirled in the same way as the gunmen's.

"Do all Al-Bhed have those eyes?"

"Yes. It's really the only foolproof way to tell if someone's Al-Bhed or Spiran."

"Are the Al-Bhed the _only_ people who have eyes like that?"

"Yes."

"_Nobody else _has them."

"No." She frowned. "Why?"

"Nothing," he muttered. _If she's half-and-half, it wouldn't be smart to tell her that one half just sent people to put her ass on ice._

"Nothing, or something?"

Felix flashed a grin. "Nothing, _boss_."

"Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me that out in public. I don't want people to know that I'm _paying_ you to be my guardian."

"Why? Everyone react like Lulu?"

Yuna seemed to ignore the jab at her friend. "Professional Guardians aren't very common. You attract enough attention as it is; I don't want any more falling on me."

"Fair enough, _Lady Yuna._"

She smiled. "That's better."

"How about just 'Yuna'?"

Yuna smiled wider. "That's best."

Felix shifted his weight. "I actually try to avoid getting too familiar with my employers," he admitted.

"Why is that?"

_So they don't try and lower the price. So I keep the relationship at arm's length. So I can look at every situation from the outside in. _"Just how I work."

"Well, this is a little… _different _than what you might be used to. Guardians and Summoners are expected to have a close, friendly relationship."

"Same thing goes for Guardians and other Guardians?"

"You guessed it."

Felix sighed. "I'm off to a great start."

"Don't worry. I'm sure Lulu will be back to her normal self tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you ought to get some sleep."

"I'm older than you. Sleep is a luxury. _You're _the one who ought to be getting to bed."

Yuna smiled. "Perhaps. But I have something to take care of first."

"There's no water around here."

"Hmm?"

"The whistling." Felix pointed off into the jungle. "The beach is that way, and as your Guardian, I'm letting you know that there's no way in hell I'm letting you wander through all _that _in the middle of the night."

"That concerned for my security?"

"Yeah, and I'm fuckin' tired," Felix laughed.

"Get some sleep," Yuna urged. "I'll go to bed in a few minutes. I just need to think for a little while, is all."

Felix shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the crackling flames. "See you in the morning."


	8. Driven

The man cracked an overstuffed manila envelope open and dumped the contents onto his desk. He perused the papers for a few moments before peering up at the tired and deceivingly well-dressed man in the chair across from him. "Felix DiMarco, eh?"

Felix tugged at his dress pants, trying in vain to make the plank of starched khaki somewhat wearable. _I swear, that is the _last_ time I leave Tracy in charge of _my _laundry. _"S'what the papers say."

"Ten years in Special Forces?"

"I'd say that's about right."

"Five tours in three separate theaters?" One of the badgers sleeping on the interviewer's forehead raised its head.

"Ain't the brightest things I've ever done," Felix said, cracking his neck.

"Two silver stars."

Felix cleaned his watch on his wrinkled polo. "Ain't I a good boy."

"General discharge."

"Maybe not."

He slammed his hand on the desk and glared at Felix. "Are you _always_ such a goddamn prick?"

"Mostly. I haven't had a smoke in… six hours, at the least." Felix smiled again. "They wouldn't let me light up on the plane. I can take a goddamn _screwdriver _in my carry-on, but smoke? Jesus, me without a cigarette is more fuckin' dangerous than Achmed's water bottle!"

The man grunted and clicked his pen. "You oughta just quit."

"Who are you, my wife?" Felix chuckled. "'Sides, I can't."

A grunt. "Hmm. Tried the patch?"

"The patch, the gum, those fuckin' motivational tapes with the bastard who sounds like Ken Burns, I've tried 'em all. Don't matter. Smokin' ain't killed me yet."

"You _know_ it causes cancer, right?"

"And drinking kills my liver," Felix laughed. "When it's your time, it's your time. Don't matter if you smoke, or drink, or run a thirty-minute mile. 'Sides, a bullet'll get me before smoking will."

"I think _some_ people skills are necessary to get this job."

"Busting heads doesn't require much diplomacy. I applied for a field position, not desk jockey."

"But security requires _subtlety_, which _you_ seem to lack."

"Hard to be subtle when you're six foot tall, two hundred-odd pounds."

"Hmm. What kind of shape are you in?"

"Depending on whether or not horizontal stripes _actually_ add weight," Felix said, rubbing his whiskers, "I could squat you."

"How's your shooting?"

"You've got the folder, you tell me."

The man mumbled to himself. "Lieutenant's Evaluation, huh? Says here 'Sergeant DiMarco can hit a squirrel in the left nut at whatever range and with whatever weapons platform.'"

Felix laughed. "Is _that _what Dave said?"

"_Lieutenant Villalobos _said that, yes. Do you agree?"

"Let's just say there's a very unhappy rodent somewhere in Farmington right now."

"Blacktip Security provides protection to high-level government officials. Do you think you could handle the pressure of escorting the Vice President?"

Felix grinned. "I didn't vote for him, so yeah."

The interviewer scowled. "Would it _kill _you to act civilized for a few minutes? I ought to end this interview right now."

"I need a fuckin' cigarette."

Another scowl.

"I need a fuckin' cigarette, _sir_."

He slapped the manila folder onto the desk. "We're done here."

Felix opened his eyes and stared at the now-familiar roof of his cabin. His hand still hurt, his lip stung, and he needed a cigarette. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and limped to the pile of clothes in the corner. He geared up, but stopped when he noticed a yellow note resting on the table.

_Felix,_

_Out shopping. Yuna's speaking at the memorial service in the temple in an hour, so find something to occupy yourself until then._

_Lulu._

He sighed, crumpled the note into a ball, and tossed it over his shoulder.

As he walked through it, Felix noticed that the village seemed empty. _How late did I sleep_? On a hunch, he made his way to the temple and cracked the door open.

Yuna stood at the top of the stairs, flanked by two Crusaders. "—The tragic loss of innocent life was truly just that – a tragedy, that we could not have foreseen." She smiled as Felix walked in. "However, thanks to one man's efforts, further tragedy was averted."

_Don't do it. Don't fucking think about-_

"I would like to ask of you one thing: regardless of what surfaces, we must not react with anger. The men responsible for the taking of innocent lives must be brought to answer for their crimes by the proper method, and not circumvention of justice." Yuna cleared her throat, a harsh sound that didn't fit Felix's mental image of her at all. Her usually soft voice rang off the high ceiling with an equally uncharacteristic authority. "With your help, we can form a strong, united front in the faces of those who would cause us to fall."

The audience broke into thunderous applause, and Felix joined in despite himself. He waded through the crowd until he came to the foot of the stairs. "Damn good speech, Yuna."

Yuna smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, what I saw, anyway."

She smiled again. "You couldn't tell how nervous I was?"

Felix laughed. "You just had to picture all of us in our underwear, right?"

Yuna blushed. "I had less trouble with some than others."

_Hoo._

"Did you sleep well?" She continued.

"Yeah. Sorry I slept in so late," Felix apologized, his thumbs hooked through his belt. "You could've woken me up, though."

"I hate to wake someone who's snoring," Yuna laughed. "Which you were. Loudly."

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

Felix tapped his belt buckle. "That loud, huh?"

Yuna laughed again. "Our tents aren't _that_ far apart."

"I figured the huge-ass one right next to the temple-"

She pressed a finger to her lips. "That's where _High Summoner _Yuna stays. _Girl Who Wants To Sleep _Yuna's tent is right next to yours."

"Good to know." He tapped his fingers on his belt clasp. Felix didn't blame her for having two tents; if he'd been a celebrity himself, he'd do the same thing. "Out of curiosity, where's the bathroom around here?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, there was a head on the _Liki_, but I haven't seen any outhouses here."

Yuna flushed bright red before bursting into rib-splitting laughter. "The woods!"

Felix raised an eyebrow."Yeah, that's fine for _me_, but I mean-"

She blushed again. "There's… erm… _facilities _in the woods, as well."

"If I'm guarding your ass – no pun intended – then I need to know where you're… eh, you know."

"Fair enough." The redness remained in Yuna's face.

He nodded. "Believe me, I hate pisser duty just as much as you. I'm not going _in _with you, I just needed to know where it was."

"Is _that_ what you usually do?"

"You don't even want to know," Felix said, shaking his head. _If I _ever _spend another night outside a senator's bathroom door in Mexico City waiting for bad chili con carne to run its course, it'll be too goddamn soon._

Yuna smiled. "You're doing good today."

"Huh?"

She pointed at the door. "There's more sphere recorders in here than at the café, Felix. You haven't shoved your hand in one yet."

He shrugged. "Nobody's said anything to me."

"Did you find a way to 'light up'?" Yuna asked, tugging her floral obi.

"Nah. And I ain't waitin' for Lulu to get the rock out of her-"

"Felix."

"I'm not countin' on her, s'what I meant. Anyone got a match?"

"Sorry."

He looked around. His eyes settled on one of the lamps burning at the foot of the stairwell.

Yuna seemed to read his mind. "Don't even think about it."

One of the reporters glanced their way, and began his voyage across the sea of people.

"Unless you want me to kill that bastard, I'm lighting up." Felix lit his cigarette off the blue flame and took a few puffs.

"Lady Yuna! There's a rumor going around that you've gained another Guardian! You, sir! Can you comment?" The reporter swiveled the microphone to Felix, who promptly shoved it away.

"Keep it out of my face, buddy."

"Sir, are you-"

"I'm the guy who's going to be kicking_ someone's_ assif that _someone _doesn't get the _fuck_ out of my_ face_," he warned, his hand resting on his pistol. "Got me?"

The reporter retreated into the crowd.

"Didn't I already warn you about using profanity in the temple?"

A smile behind a cigarette. "My bad, boss."

"So much for doing good," Yuna sighed. "Felix, you _do _realize that people are going to find out eventually."

"Doesn't mean I need to put up with pencilneck over there."

"What _is _it with you and the media?"

He tapped ash onto the floor. "Let's just say I have a history with them."

She frowned. "You might not want to get ash everywhere in here. High Priest Silber is notoriously picky about how clean the temple stays."

_Great. Another Cap-O Garcia._ "Yeah, I know the type."

Yuna raised herself on tiptoe to try and look over the crowd. "Are Lulu and Wakka back yet? I can't see."

Felix scanned the room. "Nah, they aren't here. She said she was out shopping."

"You two are talking again?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Unh-uh. She left me a note."

"I was close."

"Not really," Felix chuckled. "It was _probably _the most unfriendly note I've gotten since… hell… since my divorce."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I don't really want to talk about it."

"That's okay," she said. "You don't have to."

"Thanks." _Yeah, for not prying. _It was nice to talk to someone who didn't try and dig into his business, even when Felix was the one who brought it up. "What's on the agenda for the rest of the day?"

"When Lulu and Wakka get back from shopping, the Aurochs are having practice. He pulled some strings to let you practice with them."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "I've seen one game, and you want me to practice with the _champs_?"

She poked him in the shoulder. "If you're not a champ, you're a chump, right?"

"Low blow," he laughed. "I'd hate to be a chump."

Yuna flicked her eyes to the floor and mumbled something.

"Hmm? Didn't hear you."

"Sorry. Talking to myself."

"Careful," Felix warned, "or you might give one of those reporters the story of his life."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd hate for them to run a story about the crazy High Summoner. Wouldn't look good for me," he chuckled. "Crazy employers don't look good on a resume."

"We'd hate to ruin _your_ good reputation, right?"

"Da- got that right," Felix said, grinning. The grin dropped as his eyes locked with the eyes of a girl leaning against a statue.

The _swirling, green _eyes of a girl leaning against a statue.

_What the fuck is an Al-Bhed doing here?_

Yuna noticed the incongruent presence at the same time as Felix. "Rikku!" She squealed. She raced to the side of the girl, and the two embraced, rocking back and forth and talking fast enough that Felix had no goddamn idea what they were saying.

Felix dashed over and snapped the thumb break on his holster. "Who the hell are you," he growled. She wore an orange tank top and green shorts that left little to his colorful imagination. Long, blonde braids reached to her narrow waist.

The girl immediately focused on his pistol. "Hey! Are you an Al-Bhed too?"

"You didn't answer my question," Felix snarled. "Who the fu-" He paused and corrected himself. "Who are you?"

Yuna placed a hand on Felix's, stopping him from pulling the gun out. "Felix, I'd like you to meet Rikku. She's one of my guardians as well. Rikku, Felix."

He grunted and snapped the holster shut again. "Nice to meet you."

Rikku's eyes twinkled. "Meanie! Reaching for a machina just because you don't know me!" Her pink lips twisted into a frown. "Where'd you get it, anyway? You aren't an Al-Bhed, but you have machina, and tattoos."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Aw," Rikku said, pursing her lips, "are you mad?"

Felix's unrestrained hand wandered to his knife. "I asked you a question," he said. "Now answer it."

"Yunie answered for me!"

"Second question."

Rikku put her hands on her hips. "Why you gotta treat me like-"

"I have a _very _good reason _not_ to be friendly with you."

Yuna flinched. "I thought the cigarette helped."

"It did," Felix admitted. His eyes flicked back to Rikku. "But that ain't it."

"Is it my hair?" Rikku teased.

"Don't fu-"

"Felix, please. She's okay."

He grunted. _I still don't trust you, little girl. Yuna's Guardian or not, you need watching._

"So how did _you_ meet Yunie?"

Felix glanced at Yuna.

"He's-"

"I'm from Luca," Felix interrupted. "Yuna asked me to be one of her guardians."

"Yes. That's how we met."

Rikku put her hands on her hips again. "Did you hear what almost happened to Yunie in Luca? Where were you _then_, Mister Guardian?"

"She didn't hire-" Yuna gave Felix a nudge, and he corrected himself. "She didn't ask until after all that. Sometimes that's what it takes."

Yuna smiled.

"You should've gotten that Diesel guy to be your guardian," Rikku chirped. "He saved your life twice, you know?"

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that."

Rikku grinned at Felix. "Makin' you jealous?"

"No."

"You still didn't tell me how come you look like an Al-Bhed," the girl prattled.

"Rikku, Yuna seems to like you, so she'd be awful upset if I put you through a wall."

"You aren't very friendly, are you? Do you need a hug?"

Before he could respond, Rikku leapt from her spot near Yuna and wrapped her arms around Felix.

"Rikku, I don't think that's smart."

Felix pried the Al-Bhed off his body and dropped her unceremoniously to the floor. "If you're going to act like a monkey, do it on someone else." _Unless you suddenly age ten years. Shit, with the way things work around here, I wouldn't be surprised at all._ His mind tugged at Felix's pants and reminded him that he hadn't hadsex in almost a month. _That nurse in Kabul didn't count_, Felix decided. Right before the divorce, on the rare occasions he screwed her, Tracy acted more like a doll than a woman. Submissiveness didn't bother Felix, but apathy certainly did.

Especially when he didn't know what caused it.

Rikku giggled and looked at Yuna.

"Sure," Yuna laughed, breaking Felix's uncomfortable introspection.

Yuna accepted the leaping hug with open arms, and Felix grinned again. He'd _love _to see the headlines that could come from a picture of _that._

"How are Brother and Cid doing?" Yuna asked.

Rikku's eyes lit up. "They've used the airship to carry parts from Spira to Bikanel," she said, waving her hands in exaggerated motions. "Home is almost totally fixed!" She looked back at Felix. "So you're a Guardian too?"

"Yeah, think I said that already."

"Cool!"

"You staying here?" _Translation: I'm going to be on you like stink on shit._

"Nope!"

_Guess not._

"I'm leaving on the airship tomorrow morning, actually. I just came by to say hi to my favorite cousin!" She planted a wet kiss on Yuna's cheek before skipping off. "Bye!"

Yuna wiped her cheek and smiled. "Sorry about that."

"She's obnoxious, but it's nothing to apologize about. Don't sweat it."

"Thanks."

"I said, 'don't sweat it'."

"Um… okay?"

"There we go," Felix chuckled. "Ain't so hard."

She smiled. "Now I _really_ don't think you'll be anonymous for much longer."

_So you think that Rikku girl can figure this out? Interesting. _"Maybe not." Felix sighed and rubbed his whiskers. "Don't matter."

"Really?"

Felix sighed. "You said it yourself: 'people are going to find out sooner or later'. Looks like sooner."

Yuna spun her ring. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"The thought of people knowing who you are. It bothers you, right?"

"What'd you mean by that?"

She squinted at Felix. "You just seem… tense."

"Yeah? Having your name plastered on every damn newspaper in the country can do that to you," Felix said, halfway truthfully. A faded family picture behind a pane of cracked glass stared at him from the other half of the truth.

"So it _is _what's bothering you."

"S'not what I said."

"Yes, it is."

"S'not what I _meant_, then."

"No fair," she protested. "I can't read your mind!"

"Thank God," Felix laughed.

"Afraid of your secrets getting out?" Yuna asked with a conspicuous wink.

"Something along those lines."

"Speaking of, you_ still _haven't told me what those markings mean."

Felix sighed. His employer or not, Yuna's friendliness was undeniable, and seemed genuine. "I got the flames when I turned sixteen."

Her eyes widened. "_Sixteen_?"

"Yeah. Told the guy behind the counter I was twenty. Worked, too." He chuckled. "'Course, mom and dad weren't too thrilled with it." Felix willed away a pang of remorse with a long drag on the cigarette.

"What about the others?"

He blew the smoke in the general direction of the crowd. "There's a saying where I come from: 'curiosity killed the cat'."

"What's a cat?"

"Nevermind," Felix said, shaking his head. "It means that asking too many questions screws you over."

"Sorry; I didn't mean to upset you."

"Don't sweat it," Felix smiled. "Just something for you to keep in mind when you're talking to people." He tapped another length of ash to the floor. "Now, didn't you say Wakka's supposed to be here?"

"Yes, he and Lulu should be here already. I wonder what's keeping them?"

Felix flashed a grin. "Knowing Lulu, I bet they're hav-"

"Felix."

"Hey," he protested, "so I'm not allowed to finish my sentences anymore?"

"Not _that _one," Yuna said, crossing her arms. "I told you already that you and Lulu need to iron out your differences quickly."

"Hope you brought one big-ass iron, 'cause-"

"_Fe_lix."

He sighed. "Fine, boss. I'll talk to her in a week or so, once her _time _is-"

"_Felix_."

Felix groaned. "Damn, Yuna, lighten up!"

"I'm _perfectly_ 'lightened up', just not when one of my Guardians is making rude comments about another."

"Noted." Felix drummed his fingers against his pistol.

"Hey, Brudda!"

Felix turned around. Wakka and Lulu, Riko in tow, walked through the double doors and into the temple. "Hey, Wakka."

"Yuna. I'm sorry I missed your speech," Lulu said, brushing past Felix.

Wakka raised an eyebrow. "You say something to her, Brudda?"

Felix shrugged. "If you can't run with the big dogs," he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air, "stay the hell on the porch."

"Yeah, but, I dunno, maybe you oughta apologize?" Wakka rubbed the back of his neck. "We're _all_ Guardians, you know?"

"I think we have to _pay _him first," Lulu said, her voice clipped.

Yuna gave Felix a meaningful look, which he ignored. "Remember what I said?" He asked, flicking ash in the general direction of Lulu's boots. "Clamp it."

"We are _all _Yuna's Guardians. Nobody's irreplaceable."

Heeled footsteps clattered on the wooden floor as Yuna turned and ran into one of the side rooms of the temple. A low murmur rippled through the watching crowd.

Lulu sighed. "Wakka, I need to talk with her. You stay here and watch Riko." She walked after Yuna, through the path the younger woman cleared through a throng of confused audience members. The murmur reached a climax and quieted back down.

"What's eatin' Yuna?"

Wakka shrugged. "I dunno, Brudda, but I wanna know what happened between you and Lu. You say something to her?"

Felix narrowed his eyes at Wakka. "The hell do you keep accusing _me _of saying something to _her_? Ever think it _might _be the other way around?"

"I know Lu, and I've _never _seen her act like that to _anyone_."

"Oh?" Felix blew a cloud of smoke at the crowd. "Try listening in on some of our conversations."

"Brudda," Wakka said, crossing his arms. "I'm not gonna get in your face about this, but I'm not happy that my wife and you can't seem to get along, you know? We're all in this together, Brudda, so whatever happened with you two, take care of it."

"I'm sorry, I can't quite hear you from all the way up on that goddamn horse."

Wakka squared his chest to Felix. "Listen, Brudda. I don't know what's the matter with you, but you better get your shit sorted out with Lu."

Felix slipped his hands from his pockets. "Pull your head out of your ass. Your woman started this shit; _she_ can come and fuckin' apologize to _me_. Don't act so goddamn high and mighty."

"What," Wakka demanded, "in the name of the _Fayth _did she say that's got you all worked up, Brudda?"

"You ever been called a whore?"

Wakka's eyebrows shot up. "What's that have to-"

"Then don't try and mediate." Felix cracked his knuckles and narrowed his eyes. "Because you might find yourself in deeper shit than you think."

"Yeah?" Wakka tapped his foot. "Well, Brudda, I've never heard Lu act like that to anyone. And I don't know what-"

"I never drank somethin' that magically healed a cut before. There's a first time for everything."

"Either way," Wakka said, "we gotta all be workin' together for Yuna's sake, ya? Especially after what's been happening lately."

Felix nodded. "Someone's definitely got issues with Yuna."

Wakka bit his lip. "Anyway, I guess we all owe you thanks for the other day, Brudda."

He flicked his ash provocatively close to Wakka's sandals. "Yuna said you wanted me to practice with you guys today?"

"Yeah," Wakka said, seemingly relieved by the subject change. "I figured that if she didn't want people to know you were her Guardian, we could at least say you're just a new player, ya?"

"Don't think I'll be much of a Blitzballer."

"With a build like _that_?" Wakka's enthusiasm seemed to carry a dark undercurrent. "Brudda, you'll do _great _at practice!"

"Guess we'll find out."

As he sputtered to the surface, Felix reflected on just how much hated it when he was right. _Who in the fucking world can hold their breath for an entire game? Everybody but me, that's who!_ He spat a stream of blood into the water as he decided that maybe Blitzball just wasn't his thing. At all.

The dark undercurrent he noted earlier was not just a figment of his imagination. A voice in the back of Felix's head whispered that the last tackle served more to let Wakka vent aggression than teach the ropes to a new player. Felix couldn't deny _that _– after all, telling a man to his face that his wife had a rock up there tended to produce violent results. That sunburned cockatoo had a mean streak, and a rock-solid elbow to the face served as proof. _Oh fucking well. _Felix had more respect for Wakka after the hit, mostly because the islander let 'em hang and stood up for his wife. Felix remembered having to do something like that, once.

_'Course, after how things turned out with Tracy, that was probably a mistake._

He swam to the pier, leaving the inhuman breath-holding skills to be practiced by people who knew what in the fuck they were doing. Felix pulled himself up onto the wood and sat on the edge, let the water run down his legs and back into the ocean. He ran a hand over the stubble on the top of his head. _Maybe I'll let it grow a little bit. What's the harm, eh?_

"Rough practice?" Yuna sat down beside Felix. Her ever-present purple skirt fluttered in the weak breeze.

"Yeah, you could say that."

"What else could you say?"

"Ever watched a fish out of water?"

"Yes," Yuna laughed. "Is that what you feel like?"

"Hell yeah."

"Did Wakka kick you out?"

"No," Felix chuckled, "I left after they figured out that I couldn't hold my breath for all that long. I got to let loose, though, and Wakka returned the favor."

Yuna narrowed her eyes. "What happened?"

"First Blitz-off, I socked him hard enough to wake up his daddy. Right after that, he elbowed me in the mouth." Felix spat a stream of blood into the water. "Dammit, that lip was startin' to heal." Felix chuckled and flexed his hand. "I think I cracked my knuckle on his face, though."

She cringed. "Not what I'd call sportsmanlike."

Felix shrugged. "It ain't a sport without a _few_ gratuitous fouls. Plus, at least we had an excuse to wail on each other. Better than knocking the shit out of each other in the temple, eh?"

"You tried to start something in the _tem_-"

"Christ, why is it always _my _fault?" Felix asked the sky. "We had an interesting conversation, yeah, and we worked our differences out the quick way. Don't think that'll work on Lulu, though. Though I'd sure like to try."

"I _do _hope you two can stop clawing at each other's throats."

"Do unto others as they do unto you," Felix chuckled. "I'll back down when she apologizes."

Yuna sighed, shook her head, and changed the subject. "How long did you make it?"

"How long can I hold my breath, you mean? Five minutes."

Yuna's eyes widened. "Really? I can only hold it for two."

"Not bad." Felix scratched an itch on his shoulder. "We had to learn how to hold our breath in SF School."

"Special Forces, right?"

"Yeah; I remember _that_ goddamn swim test. Full combat load, off a diving board, into a pool. Blindfolded."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I freaked out my first time," he laughed. Felix knew Yuna didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but it _did _feel good to talk, regardless of the subject. "The instructors had to haul me out and make me go again."

"But you did it, right?"

"Yeah. Don't gotta like it, just gotta do it."

"If you can hold your breath for so long, why didn't you stay?"

"I can hold it for five when I'm not getting drilled in the face," Felix said. "Which I was."

"Not everyone can be a Blitzer."

"Guess not. I'm better at _my_ job, anyway."

Yuna tried to dip her bare feet in the water, but fell over the edge instead. "Hey! Help me back up!"

Felix laughed and extended his hand. "Here." He wrapped his fingers around her thin wrist and pulled her straight up, making sure not to scratch her against the wood. Felix played his eyes over her wet form before returning Yuna to the pier. The folds of her clothing clung to Yuna's surprisingly well-shaped figure, and Felix raised an eyebrow in not-so-subtle appreciation. _For a politician, she's got a damn nice body._

"Thanks."

"No problem," he said. "But you oughta just wear something more appropriate if you're gonna swim." _And so I can take a better look at-_

Yuna laughed, interrupting a promising string of thoughts. "I don't feel like swimming just yet."

"You'd rather sit on the edge of a dock like a dumbass?"

"I'm just enjoying the sun," Yuna said, swinging her legs. She wiped the water from her face, and Felix thanked the God he didn't believe in for the miracle of wet canvas as he glanced at Yuna. The trunks Wakka loaned him concealed the gradual stiffening of the way _he_ suddenly felt like making Yuna wet. Felix couldn't tell whether his arousal came from a genuine appreciation of Yuna's looks, or his month-long celibate streak."But it's nice to have someone to talk to, you know?"

"Glad to hear I have a purpose."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Felix. Not everyone can Blitz."

"Yeah, but I hate failing at anything."

"Nobody's perfect."

"Never stopped me from trying. Anyway, why'd you have to give that speech today?"

"Bevelle asked me to address the people."

"Who's she?"

"Bevelle is Spira's capitol city. It's where the Council of Yevon used to meet."

"Used to?"

"Mhmm." Yuna slicked her hair out of her eyes. "The Council hasn't met since the start of the Eternal Calm."

"Eternal Calm?" Felix asked, trying to keep his eyes above Yuna's shoulders for most of the time.

"All the years that will come after mine."

"Sin, right?"

"Yes." She smiled at the sky.

"Why's the Council not meeting?"

Yuna's smile dropped. "They didn't support me holding office, and showed their dissent by refusing to convene."

Felix shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, in a stupid way." He shook his head.

She toyed with her earring. "You've been quite the sensation with the news, lately," Yuna observed, changing the subject.

He frowned. "I thought you said nobody knew who I was."

"That's right," Yuna admitted, "they don't. But they _do _know that everywhere I've been, _you've_ been there with me."

"Suspicious?"

"No. But you know how the media makes mountains out of molehills."

"Damn right," Felix grunted. "So what'd they say about me?"

"Nothing much." Yuna waved her hands in front of her and mimicked the layout of the headline. "Just 'Lady Yuna seen with strange man – a new guardian?'"

"Shit. Guess you were right, earlier."

"Lulu was upset, to say the least. She's worried that me being seen with you in public is detrimental to my public image." Yuna sighed. "She's like the mother I never had."

_Mom_. The pang of remorse was harder for him to shake away this time. "Yeah," Felix said, forcing himself to think about something else. "Is that why she's such a-"

"Felix."

He sighed. "Point stands."

"It might be."

Felix sighed again. "Guess that makes sense."

"Are you going to apologize to her?"

"Hell no."

Yuna spun her ring. "But you just said-"

"I'm a lot of things," Felix said, frowning, "but I am _not _a _whore_."

Yuna raised an eyebrow. "She called you _that_?"

"She called me a mercenary," Felix growled. "It's the same thing."

"You _do _fight for money," Yuna said, her eyebrow raised. "It's mean to say, and I'm not defending her, but she-"

"There is a _massive fucking difference _between a contractor and a merc," Felix snapped, "and you _better _learn that."

Yuna looked away. "I didn't know… it offended you that much."

"Yeah? Well, it does." Felix spat into the ocean. The sun glared angrily at him. He could still remember sitting at the huge table under the ornate chandelier; could still remember a pair of hazel eyes pinning him to his chair as though he were coming home from school with a shiner again. He'd half expected the same punishment as that earlier offense, but the verbal lashing Felix received in its place was infinitely worse.

Marks on your body went away.

Marks on your heart didn't.

He felt a wet hand grip his arm. "Felix… I'm sorry."

Felix shook her off and stood up. His throat felt raw. "I'm going for a walk."

"Felix, I-"

"Leave it alone," he ordered, his voice clipped.

  


 

Felix pulled himself up until his chin cleared the branch. The pain in his arms turned from dull to screaming. He forced his muscles to let him down slowly; the bark scraped his hands as Felix's body lowered. _One more._ He tried for one more rep. One more pull. His arms gave out, and he fell to the ground. "Fuck," he snarled. "You sonuvabitch, you can't handle one more?" Felix staggered to his feet and stretched.

He refused to allow himself to sit down. His heart pounded in his ribcage, and sweat covered his reddened skin. Felix knew what he had to prove, it was his _body's_ goddamn fault he couldn't. That word still hung in his head.

_Mercenary_.

And all the words that came after it.

Felix clenched his aching fists. He'd do whatever it took to make _everyone _see what he could do; to show the _world _what he was made of.

The branch taunted him. _You can't do it,_ it teased. _You'll never be able to._

"Fuck yourself," Felix spat. He dropped himself to the ground and began hammering out pushups in a painfully harsh rhythm. Each push sharpened the images in his mind – the old man with a perennial, dark scowl; the old woman wringing her hands; a younger version of himself slamming doors and stomping out of a yellow building.

He was a better man, now.

He'd prove it.

Maybe then his family would forgive him for dragging the DiMarco name through the mud.


	9. Of Dances and Death

Felix rolled over and groaned. He felt like he slept on a rock; a glance behind him confirmed his suspicion. _Christ, of all the places to pass out._ He stretched his sore and aching arms. His legs were no better, and his stomach felt like it was on fire. He _did _enjoy the day after a good workout – just not when he needed to walkback. Felix stood up and stretched again, trying to coax some life back into his limbs. He buckled his belt around his waist and staggered down the hill.

Yuna stepped out from the treeline, a blue staff topped with an ornate gold disc in her hands. "Felix?"

"The hell are you doing up here?"

She looked at her muddy boots. "I came to apologize. I didn't realize how much I'd offended you until Wakka said you didn't come back to the village last night."

"Last night?" Felix looked over his shoulder at the horizon. The sun hovered only an inch above the taut blue line. "How long was I–" He figured it out himself, and shook his head. _'Bout half a day, at least_. Felix rubbed at his aching wrist. "I needed to burn off some frustration, anyway." _A lot of frustration, actually. And some rage. And just a little anxiety._

"Still."

He smiled. "Apology accepted, _boss_."

Yuna inclined her head. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little sore."

"Want a potion?"

Felix shook his head. "Don't need one."

"Here," Yuna insisted. She pressed a small vial into his hands. "It's a long way back to the village, and I can't carry you."

He dropped it into one of his pockets. "I don't need magic to help me deal with sore muscles," he said.

"As you will." Looking rather tired, Yuna leaned on her staff. "Are you ready to come back?"

Felix shrugged. "Sure. This way, right?" He asked, pointing at a waterfall just beyond the trees.

"If you want to take the scenic route."

A smirk found its way onto Felix's face. "Think you can handle it?"

* * *

"Maybe I should show you some self-defense stuff," he said, pushing a low branch out of the way. They'd been walking – climbing, rather, given the aggressive terrain – for a little over ten minutes, by Felix's guess, and their conversation somehow wandered from Blitzball and chocobos to martial arts. _Dunno how _that _happened._

"Felix," Yuna groaned, "I think I know how to defend myself."

The corners of Felix's mouth lifted in a sadistic grin. "You sure about that?"

"Yes!" Yuna protested. "I can hold my own!"

Felix shook his head. "Pushing Rikku off you don't count, Yuna. The guys who came after you aren't playing nice."

She crossed her arms. "Are you going to show me how to shoot or something?"

"That what you wanna learn?"

Yuna smiled. "If you can teach me. Rikku always said _she _would, but-"

"Point taken." He pulled the pistol from its holster and walked to Yuna's side. "Hold it like this," Felix said, drawing a bead on a tree that needed to die. "Put the front sight on what you wanna kill, and squeeze the trigger." The machina barked, and Yuna flinched. A spray of splinters let Felix know that yes, he could hit something _fifteen yards away_. _Shit, even Alec could hit that!_

Stabbing regret.

"Can I try?"

A preoccupied Felix handed Yuna the pistol. "Careful."

Yuna held the gun away from her body with stiff arms, blatant apprehension on her face. She closed one eye and pressed the trigger back. The recoil tore the gun from Yuna's hands and dropped it to the ground, much to her chagrin and Felix's amusement. "Sorry!"

"Relax," Felix laughed. "Hold the gun tighter, and don't look so goddamn afraid!"

"I can't help it," she pleaded. "These things are dangerous!"

"Yeah? So's who you're shootin' at."

She winced.

"Yeah, I said 'who'. That tree ain't gonna hurt you, but someone with another gun _will_." Felix bent, picked up the pistol, and handed it to Yuna. "Again."

She pointed it at the same tree, held it in the same awkward fashion, and pulled the trigger. The distinctive whine of a ricochet echoed from the woods, and Felix laughed again. "Yeah," he said, "that mountain _deserved _to die."

Yuna flushed.

Felix pulled a cigarette from his pack and waggled it between his fingers. _I think I've seen kids in basic do better than this._ "Try hitting the _target _this time."

Another bang, another miss.

Felix sighed and removed the pistol from Yuna's shaking hands. He leveled it and broke the trigger over twice; a perfect pair of holes appeared in the tree trunk. "See? Not so hard."

"Easy for _you _to say!" Yuna protested.

Something came crashing through the tree line, and Felix whirled. Wakka and Lulu broke through the foliage, a bladed ball and a doll under their respective arms. Felix lowered his handgun. "God_dammit_," he sighed, "you scared the piss out of me."

"What in the Fayth is going on?" Lulu demanded.

"Target practice," Felix said, grinning. "The target is practicing living, and Yuna is practicing missing."

Next to him, Felix could almost _hear _the blood rush to Yuna's face.

Lulu looked from the damaged tree to Felix and back again. "Yuna, are you okay?"

"Yes. Felix was just showing me how to shoot."

"Brudda," Wakka panted, "you gave us all a heart attack. We thought – well, you know."

"Sorry to make you run all this way," Felix said. He paused and studied Lulu's doll. The miniature knight, replete with armor, looked like it had an onion for a head. "The hell's she carrying that thing for?"

"Huh?"

"The doll. What good is that?"

Lulu narrowed her eyes and strode forward. "I usually don't demonstrate for someone like _you_," she said, "but it's about time somebody showed you how things work in Spira." She set the doll on the ground and raised both hands above her head. Her crimson eyes closed, and Felix swore he saw a hint of a smile appear on Lulu's face. The doll-

"Jesus Christ!"

The doll whirled about in a circle, and Lulu whipped her hands down.

A massive explosion splintered the _very _unlucky tree into charred fragments. Just as quickly as it happened, the flames died away, leaving only shattered timber as evidence of their passing.

Yuna clapped.

Wakka beamed.

Lulu took a bow, sweeping her arms low to scoop her doll back up.

Felix blinked. "What the fuck just happened?"

Lulu brushed a piece of bark from her doll. The contempt in the glare she sent Felix just managed to mask a hint of pride. "Flare."

Another stunned blink.

Wakka stepped forward and put a hand on Felix's shoulder. "Lu's a black mage, brudda."

"Once again," Felix repeated, "what just happened?"

"Black magic," Yuna explained. "Remember when I healed you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that was _white _magic. When Lulu lit your-"

"Yeah, we kinda went over this already, but-"

Lulu sighed. "Then why do you need to ask?"

"Listen," Felix snapped. "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Yuna, so you can take your exploding doll and sti-"

Yuna stamped her foot. "That's _it!_" She yelled, glaring at Felix and Lulu. "I don't care whether or not you like each other, but you _will _get along! Now, you are _both _my Guardians, and I expect _far more _from _both _of you than this… this _immaturity!_"

Felix crossed his arms. "Yuna, I-"

She shot him an angry glare.

He fell silent, but didn't change his posture.

"Lulu."

The black mage nodded.

Yuna looked from one angry guardian to the other. "I don't expect anything other than a professional respect between you two. Can you handle _that_?"

Felix slid his pistol back into its holster. "Whatever you say, _boss_."

"As you wish," Lulu managed. Her glare at Felix lessened neither in intensity nor in vehemence.

Wakka sighed. "Just so long as we can keep Yuna safe, ya?"

"Damn right."

Lulu turned. "I will be in town, if I'm needed."

"I'll be right there, Lu." Wakka looked back at Felix, started to say something, then decided against it. He crunched through the foliage after his frosty wife.

Felix, sighing, bent and picked up a smoldering piece of wood. He touched to his cigarette and took a deep breath, letting the bitter smoke ease away his feelings of frustration.

Yuna coughed.

"Bother you?"

"I don't like the smell much," Yuna admitted.

He grinned. "You'll get used to it." The pistol flipped toward Yuna, and she caught it with an awkward effort.

"Hey! I wasn't ready! And that's dangerous!"

"Oops." Felix's grin widened. "Ready to start again?"

Yuna nodded, and Felix stepped behind her.

"Hey," she protested. "You're gonna make me nervous!"

Felix took the cigarette from his mouth and reached around Yuna to support the gun, her small hands held between his. "You ain't dropping my gun again," he chuckled. He lowered his head until it was on the same plane as hers. "Got a sight picture?" Her hands were soft, and he made sure not to clamp the gun in his paws as tight as usual. Felix tried his best not to be distracted by the girl against him. It took a considerable effort to keep his focus on the tree downrange, and not let soft hair or a firm ass take him elsewhere. Yuna didn't seem to object to his positioning; whether or not she _actually_ mindedtook second place to Felix keeping his gun intact.

"I think so."

He moved the web of his hands out of the slide's path. "Shoot."

The recoil knocked the ash from his cigarette and elicited a squeak of surprise from Yuna, a noise that Felix found oddly arousing.

She lowered the gun. "Did I hit it?"

Felix squinted at the tree. He'd been too _preoccupied _to notice a spray of bark, but spied a telltale hole in the tree after a moment. "Nice shot," he said. "Killed it." A grin that probably seemed somewhat maniacal, given his close proximity to Yuna, spread across his face. "Do it again."

She shifted her weight in front of him, and he adjusted his position accordingly. Another bang, another squeak, and Felix slid farther back to keep Yuna from feeling just what effect that goddamn noise had on him.

The responsibility for his rapid and semi-unprompted response rested solely with the distinct lack of sexual activity in his life, and he knew it. Philandering seemed an attractive alternative after a few _weeks, _but he'd been celibate for a fucking _month and a half. _The fact that he found his _employer _sexually attractive was odd enough in and of itself. _She's my boss, _Felix reminded himself_. I should _not _want to bend my boss over furniture._

"You okay?"

_Shit. She felt me move back. _"Yeah, sorry. Just a little stiff." _In more ways than one._

Yuna smirked at the tree through the sights. "Side effect of getting old?"

"Not quite."

Another gunshot, another spray of bark.

"Getting good," Felix admitted. He stepped away from Yuna with more than a little reluctance, and took a seat against a rock. "And I'm _not _old."

She turned her smirk to him. "You don't look young."

"Just how old do you think I am?"

Yuna thought for a moment. "Um, thirty-five?"

He broke into a coughing fit, a side effect of attempting to smoke, breathe, and laugh at the same time. "What makes you say that?"

Yuna set the pistol on the ground and walked over to Felix. "You just seem older, that's all."

Felix took another drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke at the sky. "Jesus."

"Who?"

"Nobody," he chuckled. "Damn."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, no, I ain't _your_ age," Felix admitted, "but thirty-five?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," she said.

Felix laughed. "So you've been thinking of me as a 'father figure'? Shit, I don't think I'm ready for that." He didn't know _why _he asked that question, or what answer he wanted.

"No."

"Good. 'Cause I sure as hell don't wanna be _that _guy just yet. Ain't old enough, compared to you." _Of course, drinking and combat and nicotine tend to make you look just a _little _bit older than you actually _are

Yuna smiled. "Felix?"

He took another puff. "Yeah?"

"How old _are _you?"

"Thirty-one."

"_Really_?"

Felix laughed. "Yes, really! That's what, ten years on you?"

"Eleven!"

"_Eleven_," he said, "sue me. Point stands that I ain't old enough to be a father figure for you."

"Of course not."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Are you patronizing me?"

Yuna grinned. "Of course not." She frowned and withdrew a sphere from inside her sash. "Yes?" She asked it.

Lulu's icy, tinny voice came over the sphere. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm here, Lulu."

"It's time for the Sending, Yuna. They've brought them to the dock. We're still in town, but we'll try to be back in time."

Yuna's green and blue eyes flicked to the ground. "Yes," she said, her voice almost a whisper, "I'll be there shortly."

Felix raised his eyebrow again as he and Yuna crunched through the foliage. "Sending?"

* * *

Since Yuna's rushed explanation left much to be desired, Felix decided the Sending had something to do with a massive crowd of sweaty people standing on a dock. The wood underneath his feet creaked in protest, and he felt uneasy. _One fat bastard'll send this thing crashin' down._

His eyes flashed back and forth as Felix tried to make some sense of what was going on in front of him. Thatched caskets of some sort floated just under the shimmering surface of the water, their feathered heads adorned with a symbol he didn't recognize. A number of torches burned around the beach, as the sun hung halfway below the horizon. He couldn't make out Yuna. Felix tugged at the long-sleeved shirt his employer requested he wear – "Nothing personal," she said, "but it's best if you cover your markings for this."

_Wonder what that's all about._

The commotion near the shore indicated that Felix was about to find out.

Yuna stepped along the beach until she reached the water, at which point she slipped out of her boots and regarded her staff. She let out a long breath, and stepped into the-

_Wait a second! Is she _walking _on water?_

Sure enough, Yuna stood for a moment on the surface of the water before striding forward with unmistakable purpose. She sighed as she reached the center of the casket circle, and began to spin her staff in a graceful rhythm. The sleeve-like garments she wore on her forearms fluttered in the air as she danced, their movements becoming faster as Yuna increased the tempo. The world fell silent. Even the birds, it seemed to Felix, stopped their calling.

The flames of the torches turned from orange to an electric blue.

Next to him, a young couple slid to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The woman stretched her hand out, as though trying to seize hold of Yuna's distant fluttering skirt.

Felix's mind struggled to find explanations for Yuna walking – _dancing_, he corrected himselfon the surface of the water, for the sudden change in torch color, and for the goddamn icy knot in his stomach. He couldn't find any. Still, his eyes locked on the spiraling woman in front of him for a reason other than her bizarre location and backdrop. Something kept him watching, some hidden instinct that kept his rapt attention fixed on Yuna as her spins reached a climax.

"Mary," Felix breathed, "mother of God."

A geyser of water shot up and carried Yuna into the air as she continued to spin, her staff circled her body as she waved it in smooth motions. Small balls of energy floated out of the water – _out of the caskets? – _and orbited her. Felix's hand dropped to his holster, and his thumb tapped the snap. He recognized _those_ orbs of light, alright.

Felix, his eerie focus broken by acute discomfort, let his eyes wander over the mourning crowd. They stood, kneeled, or squatted in various stages of weeping, save for the two nonchalant men at his end of the dock. One of them scratched at his red-jacketed chest, and Felix's eyes slid back to the spiraling figure in front of hi-

The silver slide of the pistol flashed in the conflicting illumination of the orange sunset and blue torchlight.

The gunman pulled his weapon clear of his jacket.

Time went into slow motion.

Felix yanked his pistol free and spun to face the men only a few yards to his right. He fired twice without aiming. His first shot went wide into the ocean, but the second crumpled a jacketed assailant. The second man jerked wildly at his jacket.

"DROP IT!"

The man smiled and revealed a set of straight, white teeth. "Here."

A round, metallic object clattered to the dock at the man's feet.

Felix didn't have time to turn away. The explosion ripped through the wooden dock and sent searing, razor-sharp fragments of steel hissing past Felix's ear and into his body. Pain shot through his right side, and he pitched to the deck. Felix peered past a crimson curtain at the beach, where he saw three more red-jacketed soldiers burst from the treeline.

He pushed himself to his knee and took aim. His gun barked, and geysers of sand shot up around the gunmen. They scattered. Long tongues of flame spat from the barrels of assault rifles as the attackers returned fire. He sprinted down the dock and slammed into a small hut, ignoring the screaming pain shooting up and down his side. _Gotta get these fuckers quick!_

He popped out from cover and opened fire. The men didn't stand all that far away, but Felix couldn't aim with blood in his eyes. His shots missed, and what felt like a white-hot knife stuck into his arm. "Shit!"

Someone grabbed the back of his pants and yanked him behind cover. Wedge held his long, hooked sword at his side, the blade resting in the sand. "Hey! You still alive?"

Felix grinned. "Fuckin' A." He probed the crater in his arm with his finger and snarled through clenched teeth, the pain made stars dance in front of his eyes. Nothing felt broken. He ripped a tattered sleeve from his shirt and wiped the blood from his eyes before cinching it above the hole in his arm. Felix grunted and flexed his forearm. The makeshift tourniquet held. He pulled the magazine out of his pistol and gave it a quick check. "Seven," he grunted, his teeth still clenched.

Wedge pulled the point of his sword from the sand and held the blade off to one side, like a tennis player receiving a serve. "On you."

Felix stood and leaned out. "You get right."

"Got it."

He leapt from the hut and shuffled to the side, his finger working the trigger as fast as he could. One of the men went down hard, and blood sprayed from ragged craters as the bullets tore through his body. Felix drew his next bead, but a glinting blur tore through his vision. A jacketed man screamed in agony as he dropped to his knees, Wedge's huge sword jammed up to the hilt in his craw. Felix sprinted forward, his feet digging into the soft sand, and fired again. The shot went wide.

The slide locked back.

The last assailant lashed out with the butt of his rifle and caught Felix in the stomach. He stepped forward and ate a knee to the groin. Felix grabbed his doubled-over opponent with his good arm and delivered another shattering knee to the face. He clenched his fist around a clump of blonde hair and yanked the head back, exposing a tanned throat. Felix smashed it with his fist, the pain that shot up his arm produced an equally vicious snarl of rage. The man flopped on the ground, gargling and clawing at the air.

Drenched in a mixture of blood and sweat, Felix slid his knife out and scanned for another attacker. Something rustled behind him, and he spun.

He barely managed to block a razor-edged claw with his knife. Behind the claw grinned a blonde man with green eyes.

Crazed, swirling, green eyes.

Felix pulled his blade free and punched, his attacker easily ducking under the blow. The claw came whistling upward, and Felix just managed to avoid being castrated. Felix stabbed at the bare, muscular torso before him. The blade hit home both times, and blood issued from the pair of neat incisions.

The man swung the claw again, but his movements seemed slower. Felix drew his knife across his attacker's arm at the elbow. The weight of the claw snapped the tendon-less arm downward like a dry twig. The knife continued its cut, and Felix plunged it into the man's ribcage under the armpit. He finished by sticking the knife into the side of the man's neck and cranking it from ear to ear like a can opener.

Warm blood spurted onto Felix's arm as his lifeless opponent folded to the sand.

"Diesel!"

He turned. Wedge stood, his bloody sword in his hands. "Yeah?"

"We got 'em."

Felix looked down at the disfigured corpse in front of him, then at the jungle. Another knot formed in his stomach. "Where the fuck's Yuna?"

A soft voice spoke out. "I'm right here." He spun around. Crouched behind an overturned canoe, Yuna held her knees tightly to her chin. Her clamped eyes and her wet and reddened face provided the distinct evidence of recent crying, as did Yuna's cracked voice. "Is everyone else okay?"

He let out a sigh of relief. "Scared the shit out of me," Felix said. "Yeah, the only one's dead are the bastards with guns."

"Not quite," Wedge called, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "They took some with them."

Yuna flinched.

Felix squatted down. "You hurt?"

She shook her head. Her eyes remained closed.

"Sure?"

Yuna nodded. "I'm… I'm fine."

He noticed a splotch of red and a tear on one of her sleeves, and grabbed her arm. The sharp intake of breath that resulted tipped Felix off to Yuna's lie. "Like hell," he said. He cut her sleeve off. A deep gash marred her skin, the blood around the edges congealed and purple. He reached into his pocket for a potion, but found only a shattered tube. _Ah, shit._ Felix tore a long strip off the discarded sleeve and tied it around Yuna's wound. She winced. "Get one of those potions soon's you can, you hear me?" He paused, then wiped away his bloody handprints with the sleeve. "Hey, hear me?"

She nodded again.

Felix stood and limped toward the huts.

"Diesel." Wedge tossed a small, pale green vial to him. "Drink that."

"Potion?"

"Yeah. You're pretty beat up."

He contemplated the bottle for a moment, then walked back to Yuna. Felix pressed the potion into her shaking hands. "Drink some of that."

Wedge sounded irritated. "Diesel, you're the one with-"

Felix turned around. "Protecting _her_ is my _job_. Don't tell me how to do it." He looked back at Yuna. "Take a sip, Yuna. You need to close that cut up."

She fumbled with the cork for a moment, until Felix reached forward. "Here." He popped the cork out of the potion's neck. "Take a drink."

Yuna lifted the vial to her lips and tried to drink, but her shaking spilled most of the liquid down her chin. She flushed and looked away.

Felix sighed and held the vial to Yuna's mouth as she sipped the few drops of potion left. She murmured her thanks to Felix. Yuna's green and blue eyes fluttered, fixed on Felix, then shut.

"She gonna be okay?"

"Yuna's fine; just a cut arm. Don't think she can walk, though," Felix added. The girl in front of him looked like hell, plain and simple, and his blood-covered visage couldn't have helped her cope with another assassination attempt.

"Shock?"

"Nah. Not yet, anyway." He thought for a moment. "Do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Carry Yuna back to the village."

Wedge raised an eyebrow.

Felix pointed to himself. "She'll go into shock for _sure_ if I get this shit all over her."

The Crusader nodded. "Least I can do. What're _you _gonna do?"

Felix ignored the question, his eyes fixated on corpses on the dock. From this distance, he could vaguely make out fluttering strands of blonde hair. _That grenade had more than one name written on it_. He pressed Yuna's torn sleeve to his arm and winced. "I'll head back in a minute."

* * *

He tore the end of the gauze with his teeth and sighed. _At this rate, I'll go through half the bandages in Spira_. Felix's entire body ached, and his right ear rang from the grenade explosion. Images of the attack continued to play in his mind as a boxer- and bandage-clad Felix lay in his bed. He could still see the faces of the men he killed, yes, but he'd grown used to those ghosts long ago. The ones that bothered him were those of the innocent – of the men and women who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He tugged at the bandage binding the gauze-stuffed hole in his forearm and winced. There were no more potions in the village – Felix insisted the few remaining be used on the other wounded – and so the Curlex in his medkit took their place. He had a headache from the pain, and the sake on the nightstand didn't do much to take the edge off. _Damn weak Spiran booze._

The usual guilt nagged at him. _What if I'd reacted faster? _He went over and over the moments in his mind, from the instant his gun came out to being carried into his tent by two Crusaders when he couldn't walk any farther. Felix came to the same conclusion as usual: _it wouldn't have mattered how fast I reacted. They would have died either way._

Excuses never provided any comfort, nor closure.

Felix's mind wandered back to the root of today's problem: Yuna's Sending. He still didn't understand quite what it was, but watching her dance made his entire body break out in a cold sweat. Those orbs of light from Brazil had _something _to do with it, he knew, but what?

A voice at the entrance to his tent held the possibility of an answer. "Felix."

He pulled the sheets over his damaged body. "Come in."

Lulu ducked under the flap and sat down on the shelf opposing Felix's bunk. "How are you doing?"

"Beat straight to hell," Felix admitted. "Where's Yuna?"

"In her tent. Wakka and Wedge are outside."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Outside mine or hers?"

"Yours."

A flash of anger welled up in him. "You tell Wedge to get his ass over to Yuna's and-"

"She'll be fine, Felix." In the darkness, he couldn't tell whether Lulu was smiling at him or studying him. The feeling in his gut leaned toward the latter. "No small thanks to you."

"Wedge saved _my _ass; thank him."

Lulu clasped her hands. "I owe you an apology."

"Yeah." He looked up at the ceiling and tried to pull back the curtain of amicability from Lulu's voice. Behind it, Felix half expected to find a gun leveled at him. "Doesn't matter."

She sighed. "You're hard to figure out, you know that?"

"I try."

Wedge stuck his head into the tent. "Hey, Diesel, there's someone here to see you."

"Send 'im in."

Wedge grinned. "Her."

Yuna stepped into the tent, her purple skirt and white halter replaced by a clean white dress. "Are you… feeling okay?"

"_You _should be asleep," Felix said.

"So should you," Wedge interjected.

"Go do your job, jackass." Felix turned his attention back to Yuna. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and winced again. "Take a seat," he said, leaning his weight onto the leg that _didn't _feel like giving out as he stood.

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Felix."

_Thanks. _He lowered himself back down. "Need something?"

"No, but I think _you_ might." Yuna walked to the side of Felix's bed and extended her hands over his body. She concentrated for a moment, and her palms glowed an eerie white. Felix felt a bizarre sensation wash over him. Unlike the soft buzzing of a potion, whatever Yuna just did felt like a bucket of cool water dumped over his entire body. The pain down his side and in his arm dissipated, and the dull ache in his head vanished as well. A bulge formed in the wrapping on his arm. Felix pulled the bandage away, and almost didn't believe what he saw.

The wound left no trace of its passing, save for the lump of dark red gauze that plopped to the ground. "Guess that's white magic," he said, rubbing his former gunshot wound. _Wish we had that back in Iraq_.

Yuna nodded. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Felix scratched his chin. "Sure you don't need anything?"

"Yes." Yuna's lips lifted in a tired smile. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Thank you." She ducked back under the flap after wishing Felix and Lulu a good night.

"Lulu."

"Yes?"

"What was that dance for, today?"

Lulu sighed. "The Sending helps guide the souls of the deceased to the Farplane."

"Souls? You mean those lights?"

"Yes. Those are pyreflies – the physical manifestation of a dead person's life force. If they are not sent to the Farplane, the pyreflies come together and become a fiend."

"Wakka said something about fiends a few days ago." Felix paused. "If you killed one of these fiends," he asked, "would pyreflies be released?"

Lulu frowned. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," he lied. _So those things in Brazil were from Spira? How did that happen, and what's it mean? Why are the Al-Bhed gunning for Yuna? Jesus, too many questions, too little booze. _"So the Sending."

"As a Summoner, one of Yuna's duties is to ensure the safe passage of as many pyreflies as she can."

Felix lay quiet for a long while. "She dances for death, huh?"

"That's a macabre way to put it, but yes."

"Rough life."

"Yuna chose it with full knowledge of what it meant."

Felix looked out the open tent flap at the shrinking, white-clad figure. "She's a tough girl," he said. "A real tough girl."

"She has to be."

"Ain't that the way?" He mused. Felix took a cigarette from the pack on the shelf and held it out to Lulu. "Mind?"

She shook her head and lit the cigarette. "It's time for me to leave, anyway. Riko can't sleep without at least one of us there."

"Night."

"Goodnight."

Felix placed the cigarette in his mouth and, by its glow, studied the roof of his silent tent. Spira was full of questions to which it did not have enough answers. Just when things began to make sense, something else threw a huge-ass wrench into the machine. _Least nobody else has any better idea than me, this time._

The Al-Bhed tried to kill Yuna again, _that_ much Felix knew for certain. "Nobody else has those eyes," she'd said. There was no mistaking the crazed, swirling green gaze of the man with the claw; nor was there a way to mistake the grenades and machina used in the attack. He recalled his earlier distrust of the young Al-Bhed named Rikku and grunted. _If she had anything to do with this, I'm taking her for a swim_.

Something else bothered him as he stared at the ceiling. As his mind played back over the evening, Felix recalled the icy knot that formed in his stomach when he realized he didn't know where Yuna was. During the limp back to the village, he brushed it off as an adrenaline-hyped response. _It's my job to protect her, so it only makes sense that I'd be worried when I didn't know if she was in one piece, right?_

_Right?_

He looked through his open tent flap at the roaring bonfire in the village center and wondered.

* * *

"Thought I'd find you here, _syda_."

A weathered man spoke without turning. "You have news."

The younger man walked forward and stood beside him, looking out over the railing at a desert skyline aglow with the fires of the city. Moonlight glinted off the endless dunes stretching to the undulated horizon. He sighed. "Always news with you, _syda_," he lamented. "Can't we have a normal conversation for once?"

"You know as well as I how important it is that we succeed."

"Yeah, I know. Still, I don't like it."

The older man raised a blonde eyebrow. "Does that matter?"

"Nah." He scratched at the blonde stubble on his chin. "I just don't like it, s'all."

"Do you object to our situation?"

A grin. "Not any more than you, _syda_."

"May I count that as a 'yes'?"

"Fuck if I care." The younger man stared out at the city for a long moment.

"What is it you do not like, then?"

"Why don't we just send a message, _syda_?"

"To whom?"

Another maniacal grin. "To _them_."

The older man's lips twitched in what could possibly be counted as a form of a smile. "What kind of message?"

Madness flashed behind swirling green eyes. "Payback's a bitch."

"Surely you are not suggesting we-"

"Calm, _syda_. We won't be turning on anybody just yet."

"What is your plan, then?"

The younger man drummed his fingers on the railing. "We're gonna stick a real chocobo down their pants this time, _syda_."


	10. Civil Blood

Vichada, Colombia  
May 24th, 1999 – Eight years ago  
1300 hrs Local Time

Felix bit onto one of his gloves and pulled it off, the glaring midday sun made the sweat glisten on his bare hand. The pasture lay several yards beyond a patch of Colombia's dense forestry, and beyond _it_, presumably, lay his destination. He dragged his dirty fingers through the waist-high grass; his heart leapt into his arid throat as each blade slipped past. The long, thin object Felix's digits brushed against was one of two things. He pinched it lightly between his thumb and forefinger and moved it back and forth in miniscule amounts.

The field of grass twitched along its length.

_Shit. Tripwire._

He reached behind him and pulled a pair of wire cutters from his canvas buttpack. Felix pushed the cutters right up against the side of his fingers and slid the jaws shut. The tension on the line released, and so did his breath. He lifted himself on his elbows and peered through the top of the grassy field. Around ten meters to his left, he saw the first huts. A skinny man with an AK-47 paced back and forth in front of a low stone wall. Felix clicked his radio twice. _Contact._

One click came back to him. _Copy._

Felix slid his MP5 forward and lifted it to his shoulder. He parted the grass with the barrel just enough to watch the sentry through the hooded front sight. His ungloved thumb clicked the safety off. The sentry sat down on the wall and spewed a rapid string of Spanish into a brick-like radio.

Five clicks on the radio. _Weapons free_.

He clicked. _Copy._ The suppressor on his MP5 reduced the report of the bullet to almost nothing, the sound of the bolt louder than the three-round burst itself. The sentry's head exploded in a pink mist. Felix held his breath. _If shit's gonna go down, now's the time._

Nothing.

Birds chirped.

Felix crawled through the field of grass until he could see the blood trickling out of the shattered skull. He seized the sentry's foot and dragged him back into the foliage before sliding over the low wall and crouching behind a ramshackle hut. He slid along the wall and peeked out, squinting hard in the glare. Six or seven men sat around a barbecue pit in lawn chairs, drinking liquor from jugs and laughing loudly. Behind them, cows mooed inside a large, decrepit barn.

Felix slipped around the corner of the building and placed his ear against a wooden door. Inside, he could hear strains of flamenco guitar and soft Spanish singing. He pushed the door open just enough to peer through the crack. Rows of bunks lined the walls. A beat-up turntable sat on one of the footlockers. Felix pushed the door the rest of the way open and pulled out his knife. The floorboards creaked, and he shifted his weight to silence them.

Someone grunted behind another door, and Felix's blood froze. He crept to the doorway and put his camouflaged face to the hole where the knob should have been. Inside the small room – _bathroom_ – a man sat on the toilet, his eyes focused on the magazine he held in one hand. In the other hand, presumably, rested a little goatfucking dick.

Felix grinned. _Bastard's crankin' one off_.

The man zipped up his fly and moved to the sink.

His grin widened as he realized that he stood in front of the only exit. He could either sneak back into the barracks, or take the fucker.

As the man turned to leave the bathroom, Felix found his choice easy.

He stood and pressed his back to the wall, his knife at the ready. The man opened the door and stepped out. Felix grabbed him around the neck and dragged the rebel back into the bathroom, a razor-edged combat knife pressed against his neck. "_Buenos dias, chingaso_." The knife tore cleanly through muscle and sinew, and Felix dumped the corpse into a dirty bathtub.

Felix slipped out of the bathroom and wiped his knife on his pants. The deathly silence inside the bunkhouse was broken only by the gentle crooning of the record player. He flipped a toggle on his radio. "Hollywood, DiMarco."

"DiMarco, Hollywood. Go."

"Got a tango with a headache and one with a boner and a cut throat."

"We compromised?"

"Negative." Felix looked over his shoulder at the bloody body in the bathroom. "Might not stay that way for long, though."

"Got a count?"

"Roger. Seven in the courtyard, dunno how many in the other barracks. First building from the West is clear, repeat, first building from West."

Felix could almost see Hollywood's picturesque smile. "Roger. Second building from the East also clear, repeat, second from East. Hollywood out."

"Over and out." Felix flipped the toggle again and sheathed his knife. He crept back out of the barracks and into the sunshine, where the sweat intensified.

He swept the muzzle of his MP5 over the area in front of him as a matter of habit before swinging around to the next building. Felix put his shoulder to the door and pushed, but the door refused to give. He took a step back and charged. The door sheared from its hinges and dumped Felix onto the wooden floor.

His heart flew into his throat.

A knot of men in dirty, faded T-shirts and jeans sat to his left, AK-47's at their feet.

_Oh, shit._

The men stared at him for a long time, as though making sure Felix was alone. Slowly, a growing anger replaced the surprise in their sunburned faces.

Shells rained onto the floor as Felix held the trigger of his MP5 down, not bothering to aim at the figures only a few meters away. Red blotches appeared on their writhing bodies, and they screamed in Spanish. One managed to reach his rifle and fired a long burst into the floor as he crumpled.

Felix slammed home another magazine and worked the bolt as he raced back out the door. He fumbled with the grenade pouches on his belt, trying desperately to free one of the deadly metal spheres. The group of men seated around the fire jumped to their feet, looking around them for the source of the gunfire. The grenade hissed through the air, bounced off a rebel head, and exploded before it hit the ground.

From positions around the village, a volley of silent death streamed from hidden gun muzzles. The MP5 pressed against Felix's shoulder and tried to pull into the sky. Felix and the other Green Berets worked with a deadly precision, and the screams and yells of the rebel soldiers fell silent in a matter of seconds. He dropped the empty magazine and slid a fresh one in.

The birds chirped in the jungle.

A low, wailing moan rose up from the camp as camouflaged men converged on its center. One of the rebels lay on the floor, holding his stomach and bleeding from his mouth. Felix reached the scene first, his MP5 leveled at the wounded man. He yanked the bolt back and locked it.

"_Ah, dios mio_…"

Felix's attention focused on the pathetic figure on the ground before him. As he reached for the medkit on his belt, he froze. Images flashed through Felix's mind at the same speed bullets left his gun moments before.

The impromptu funeral pyre in the village; the oily smoke reached out and seized hold of his senses. Felix slapped the bolt home and pressed the muzzle of his MP5 to the man's forehead.

The little boy burnt beyond all recognition, his curled body still smoldering in the flickering firelight.

Felix's finger tightened on the trigger.

The man was pleading now, in rapid Spanish mixed with sobs.

The battered, headless woman lay against the hut; the dead child possibly hers.

Suddenly, the gun didn't rest on the head of a fellow human. Felix knelt facing a wolf, a predator - a beast that deserved to die. The man ceased to have a true face; his features became at once forgettable and indistinct. His pleading turned into unintelligible, primal whimpers.

Someone tugged on the straps of his web gear. "Felix."

Felix's vision flickered and returned to normal. The man still lay on the ground; his blood and tear-drenched features twisted in agony. "Don't waste your ammo. We've got a long way to go, yet."

"Hollywood, th-"

His sergeant looked down. "Little shit ain't worth the bullet."

Felix switched his selector to safe and turned to walk away with the rest of his squad. "I hope," he snarled over his shoulder, "you bleed to death."

Another Green Beret responded with an emphatic "fuck yeah".

The twelve men disappeared into the foliage, leaving empty shells and broken men behind.

Birds chirped in the jungle.

* * *

"Just the way I like it." The younger man ran his hands along the long, metal cylinders on the table before him. A red light in the center pulsed steadily, and the apex of a thick braid of wires extended from one end.

The older man stood against the gantry, his hands thrust into his pockets. "Higa, are you ready?"

A wicked smile spread across a face covered in blonde stubble. A pair of swirling green eyes played over the volatile sculpture, in much the same way an artist would contemplate his masterpiece. "Yeah." Higa stood and walked through the doorway, past his older companion. "Let's deliver a message, _syda_."

"Have you considered the possible ramifications?"

Higa sighed. "Always _thinking_ with you, _syda_."

"_I_ think, because _you_ do not."

The younger man threw his hands in the air. "Holy Machina, save me."

"You are not taking this-"

"I'm taking it seriously, _syda_." Higa flashed another wicked smile. "I'm _seriously_ glad we're gonna put ram it in their ass."

The older man slowed his stride. "You assume they will take this lying down?"

"'Course not!" Higa exclaimed. He grinned wider. "I _want _'em to react." His arms made an all-encompassing gesture. "It's the least we owe the _Vymmah_."

The older man froze. "_Vymmah, _Higa? You invoke-"

"I ain't 'invoking' anything I got no right to!" He insisted. "That's our _real _job, remember? Or has the great Sig forgotten his roots?"

Sig narrowed his eyes. "Do not presume yourself my equal, Higa." He resumed his businesslike stride. "Of course I recall."

"Then you oughta be _glad _we're takin' this into our own hands!"

"Regardless of the reason," Sig continued, "I am never eager to renege on my word."

"Renege, my ass," Higa snorted. "Remember Operation: Mi'ihen? How many of who died there, _syda_?" He jammed his finger at the floor. "We built this airship from the scrap gathered at Mushroom Rock, remember? Named him after our heroes, the _Vymmah_." Higa shook his head. "Like it or not, we're the avengers here."

"I never said we were not."

"Look," Higa said. "You're smarter than me; that ain't a secret. Alls I know is that it's time we made Spira pay. Plus," he added, "if this all works, we still get our cash."

Sig thought for a moment. "Surprising foresight from you, Higa."

"I try, _syda_, I try." He offered a mad smile again. "Now, let's go deliver a message."

* * *

Wakka pointed at the figure on the end of the dock. The man lay on his back, a log propped up on his outstretched arms. In a rhythmic motion, he lowered it to his chest and lifted it back up. "He's workin' hard, ya?"

Lulu nodded. "He's quite determined, I'll grant him that." She turned back to Riko, who busied himself with small plastic fiends.

"The man's a machina, Lu." He sat down next to his wife. "Wedge told me all about yesterday, and we… we already watched him once, ya?"

"Yes." Lulu focused her crimson eyes on the far-off contractor. "A machina using machina to protect a Summoner and her Guardians, all in the name of more Gil." She turned to her husband. "A ball of contradictions."

"Huh?"

The lacquered nail on one slender finger pointed at the dock. "Him."

Wakka scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… can't deny _that_, you know? Still," he continued, "he does his job good, ya?"

"Quite." She looked back to the subject of their conversation. "Perhaps… he does it _too _well."

Her husband gave a grave nod. "Still, he's nice to Yuna, ya?" Wakka offered. "They're gettin' along just fine, looks like."

"Yes." Lulu did not look away. "They certainly are," she said, a measure of suspicion in her voice.

Felix dropped the log to one side and unwrapped the wet fabric from his hands. _Hope Wakka doesn't need _that_ shirt back_. He stood up and stretched his arms, grunting as tight muscles became limber. On a whim, he jumped into the water to cool off. Felix flipped onto his back and kicked himself out into the shallow cove. The water felt good against his hot, sweaty skin, and he grinned. He rolled back over and swam toward the beach.

His head bumped something, and he looked up. A Blitzball floated in the water. Felix grabbed it, tossed it into the air, and lashed out with a powerful hook that sent the ball hissing toward the horizon. _Not a bad shot for my second time out._

"Hey, where was _that_ before, brudda?"

Felix turned to regard Wakka. "Lot easier when I'm not underwater," he laughed. "Or getting my ass kicked." He walked onto the beach, his canvas shorts swinging, and slicked the water out of his eyes. "Something up?"

"Just checkin' to see if you're doin' okay. Everything's workin' right, ya?"

He flexed his forearm. Yuna's white magic did what she said it would; not that he doubted her abilities. _She already healed me once before, right? _"Yeah."

Wakka's expression changed to something more serious. "They want Yuna back in Luca tomorrow, brudda."

"Speech?"

"Yeah. Somethin' about showin' the people how strong she can be, you know? Anyway, we're gonna be there for a few days."

Felix grabbed a towel from the beach. "Makes sense to me," he said, drying himself off. "When we leavin'?"

"Couple of hours yet. Lu and Yuna're packin' right now, and I'm gonna go get my stuff."

"Thanks for the warning," Felix said, ambling toward the hut where his boots waited for him. "I'll head back in a few minutes."

* * *

Felix grabbed his belt off the bed and wrapped it around his waist. His two pairs of pants lay folded on the bed as well, along with his long-sleeve tactical shirt. He threw his only _actual _shirt – the gray one – onto the pile along with the white splinter-fest he used for his workout. He inspected the one-sleeved shirt he wore the day before and frowned at the stains. Copious amounts of blood obscured its original color. _I'll just wash it when we get back ho-_

_Back home. _He sighed. In the span of two short weeks, including his time spent unconscious, a tent on a small island became "home". Felix looked out the open flap at the piercing blue sky and sighed again. His eyes shut for a moment, and he tried to picture himself back in Chicago. The image of his apartment came to him blurred and cloudy, like a reflection in a steamed-up mirror. He couldn't picture Tracy well, either – try as he might, something always seemed off: the nose wasn't the right shape, or her dimples didn't look the same, or some other little detail just significant enough ruined Felix's recognition of his ex-wife. Not that he minded all that much.

What _did _bother Felix was the lack of any real explanation for his appearance in Spira. Yes, there was the buzzard of death. Yes, it attacked the compound in Brazil. No, he couldn't find a reason why a giant bird and its little demonic spawn saw fit to pick him up and drop his ass in the middle of another world. Felix sighed again, balled up the filthy shirt in his hands, and hurled it across the tent. _Why am I here?_

Another image sprang up in his mind, this time of Yuna. He sighed again. _If I hadn't been here, she'd be dead for sure. Wakka too, and Lulu, and their kid. Is that why_? Felix shook his head. _No. No way in _hell _that bird knew what it was doing. Just a freak coincidence._

_Oh? Then why _did _you show up in Spira?_

_No use dwelling on it. _He looked out the flap again. Despite all its peculiarities and contradictions, there were worse places to be than Spira. A small smile lifted the corners of Felix's mouth. _Plus, dangerous places are always profitable_.

_Is that why I feel at home here?_ Felix stuffed his pants into the bag. Combat defined the past eleven years of his life, whether in the service of his country or the almighty dollar. As a rule, the more dangerous the locale, the higher the pay. His contract in Spira continued that tradition; her jungles and cities seemed to serve as veritable nesting places for people with itchy trigger fingers, and _that _fact translated into three thousand Gil a week. Felix knew responsibility for each attempt on Yuna's life rested with the same group of men. _She knows it too, but she doesn't want to admit it._ He recalled one of their earlier conversations. _Didn't Yuna say she's half Al-Bhed? _Felix shook his head. _She'll have to face it eventually, and I'm not sure she'll be able to handle it when she does._

He lifted his bulletproof vest off the floor, thought for a moment, then stepped out of his tent. "Yuna!"

"Yes?" Yuna stuck her head out of the adjacent tent. She was back in her trademark halter, and in all probability, her purple skirt. _Can't fault the girl for being consistent._

He tossed her the vest. "Try that on."

She held it at arms length. "Why are-"

"Just humor me, okay?"

Yuna didn't have to open the velcro closures; the vest was wide enough for her to slip over her head and shoulders. It lolled about on her slight frame, and Felix chuckled. _She looks like a little kid playing dress-up._ "Nevermind, I guess."

She took it off and threw it back to Felix. "What was that for?"

"I wanted to see if that fit you," he said.

"Well, it didn't!" Yuna laughed. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually. How long we gonna be in Luca?"

Yuna thought for a moment. "Four days, I think."

Felix looked back at his meager pile of clothing. "Grab another pair of pants from Wakka for me, will you?"

A ball of white denim whistled through the air and smacked Felix solidly upside the head. "Hey, what the fu-"

Someone laughed in the village. "Nice catch, brudda!" Wakka stood at the mouth of the tent across from Felix, his hands on his hips. He nodded at the pants. "Those're the pants I wore to my bachelor party, brudda."

Felix cocked an eyebrow, looked at the pants, and feigned surprise. "Oh, so _that's _where this stain came from." Wakka turned red, and Felix laughed. "Kidding. Thanks."

"Don't mention it, brudda."

"Wilco."

"No, seriously, _don't _mention it to Lulu." He looked over his shoulder at his wife and son on the steps of the temple, out of earshot. "She doesn't know I had one yet, brudda."

Felix chuckled. "Got it." He tossed the pants onto his bed, thought for a moment, and called to Wakka again. "Hey, how much does a pair of pants usually cost in Spira?"

"Hundred and fifty Gil. Why?"

He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and took out a handful of coins. _Two hundred, three hundred, four-fifty._ Felix dropped the coins into the small bag Yuna gave him earlier and threw it to Wakka. "Three pairs, right?"

"Brudda, you don't-"

"Take it," Felix said. "I'm workin', I can afford to pay you."

Wakka shrugged. "Your Gil," he muttered as he walked back into his tent.

Felix cinched his boots tight and searched his room for a bag of some kind. _Jars, cans, sake… hey, sake! _He grinned, reopened the forgotten bottle, and took a swig._ More jars, sheets, knickknacks, Jesus these people like jars… _"There you are," he said, grabbing a leather sack out of the large trunk in one corner. Into it, he stuffed the items on the bed. There was one last thing he needed before leaving, and there was no way in _hell _it would stay home. Felix pulled his cleaned pistol from under his pillow, dropped it into his holster, slung his makeshift luggage on his back, and left his tent.

Lulu and Wakka were already waiting for him. "Are you packed?"

Felix jiggled his bag and looked around. "Where's Yuna at?"

"In here!" Yuna yelled from her tent. She stumbled out, still fumbling with her long earring. "Sorry!"

"Take your time," Lulu said. "There's no great rush to leave." The black mage stepped forward to help her friend. "Here," she said, "hold still."

Felix turned to Wakka, who shrugged. "She's a little slow to get ready, brudda."

"I can see," Felix chuckled. He scratched at the two days of stubble on his chin. _I'll just shave on the _Liki.

Yuna straightened her halter and flushed. "Are we all ready?"

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Let's go," Wakka said, hefting his and Lulu's bags.

* * *

He dropped his bag in his old cabin. It looked the same as when he left it, for the most part, save for being cleaner. Felix snapped his belt off and tossed it onto the floor, but stuffed the pistol into the back of his pants. He pushed the door open and stepped into the bathroom.

Felix left the small room a few minutes later, the whiskers on his face trimmed into his usual soul patch configuration. His head retained the essences of hair beginning to peek out – since he arrived in Spira, the only people with bald heads he saw either shot at him or glared at him from under elaborate headdresses. _I oughta make at least a half-assed attempt at blending in._ A wry smile crossed his face. _As if the pistol, smokes, and ink didn't tip my hand already_.

He heard a soft knocking at his door. "It's Lulu."

"Come in."

The black mage closed the door behind her and walked over to Felix's bed. She sat down on the edge and studied him for a moment. "How are you getting along with Yuna?" Lulu asked.

Felix shrugged. "Nice girl. Don't have any complaints 'bout her." He pulled open his bag and began unpacking.

"You two get along well, then?"

He tossed his battered shirt over the chair in the corner. "Yeah. No issues I know of." Felix paused. _Wait…_ "Why?"

She crossed her arms across her ample breasts. "I'm going to say this once: arm's length." Lulu's crimson eyes darkened. "I expect nothing other than professional conduct from you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Felix didn't break eye contact. _Round two, huh? _"Where's _this_ coming from?"

"Concern for a friend. I don't want her getting too close to you."

He grinned. "Worried I might corrupt her?"

Lulu didn't seem amused. "You are _dangerous_," she said, her voice low. "I don't want you-"

"Listen," Felix snapped. He already had _just about_ enough of Lulu, and a blatant implication of inappropriate conduct went way over the line. "_You_ ain't payin' me shit, so I don't give a flying fuckwhat _you_ want. Here's what I'll tell you: I get along _just fine _with Yuna. I get along _just fine _with Wakka, too." He shook his head. "If there's something I _don't _have a problem with, it's staying objective."

She sat back. "It seems we have an understanding, then."

"Sure." Felix pointed at the door. "Now go get your panties in a knot somewhere else."

The door clicked shut, and Felix wondered why he became so defensive toward Lulu's accusations. _It's just your nature, _he assured unfolded and refolded his green tactical pants.

_Is that all?_

* * *

Felix adjusted the placement of his sunglasses. Behind the smoky lenses and the haze from his cigarette, he surveyed the crowded stadium. The Blitzball arena looked to be filled well past capacity – even the stairs, converted to serve as standing-room-only space, were a sea of colorful clothing and bobbing heads. He blew a puff of smoke toward the ceiling and shifted the positioning of his shoulders against the carved stone wall. Yuna, Wakka, and Lulu stood in front of him at the railing of the raised dais, positioned high on the stadium's eastern side. The crowd seemed overjoyed to see their Summoner in one piece.

He hated crowds.

He snugged his vest down tighter and sighed. Spira seemed to enjoy emulating Iraq when it came to weather. Felix couldn't recall a day yet that didn't make him break out in sweat just standing still. _No wonder these people like the water so much._

Yuna stepped forward to a podium at the forefront of the dais, and the dull roar of the crowd reached a frenzied pitch. She raised a hand, and the masses fell silent. "One day ago," she began, "a group of armed men attempted to interrupt a Sending."

A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Sixteen people, including eleven innocent bystanders, were injured in the attack. Twelve of them, including five gunmen, died."

Another murmur.

"It has become clear to me that those responsible for the attacks against Spira and Spirans will not be satisfied with taking one life – my life – but instead desire only to shed as much blood as possible." Yuna paused. "It is my _firm _belief that they will discover just how strong we can be when we stand together." She paused again. "Together," Yuna repeated. "Again, I must urge you not to respond to violence with violence, or to hate with hate."

The audience fell completely silent.

"Cycles of bloodshed, in the end, only consume those involved. Evil will always beget evil – that truth cannot be ignored. We cannot expect that responding to those who would do us harm with anger and hatred can change anything." She waved her arms in an all-encompassing gesture. "We have been through pain before, we have seen death face-to-face, and we emerged stronger than ever. I ask you: do not be fearful. Rather, join hands with your neighbors, and tighten the bonds between us that we hold so dear." Yuna bowed her head to her chest, and the audience broke into frenzied applause.

"Damn," Felix said, "you really nailed that one."

She flushed. "I hope so," Yuna said. "I'd hate to disappoint the people."

Lulu put a hand on Yuna's shoulder. "There's no way you disappointed anyone."

Wakka nodded. "Yeah! You got everyone really psyched, you know?"

"Hey," Felix said, looking over his shoulder. "We oughta bail before the exits get too crowded."

As they climbed down the wide staircase, Lulu tapped Felix on the shoulder. "Where did you get those pants?"

Wakka gave him a meaningful look. "Bought 'em," Felix said.

"Oh?" Lulu looked back at her husband. "Wakka, I think that color would look good on you. You should buy a pair."

Felix looked around the familiar rotunda. The little drink stand still stood in the center, complete with a fresh coat of paint and a new, blonde clerk. On a hunch, he strayed off to one side and studied one of the pillars framing the entryway. A pair of holes overlooked by the repair crew stared back at him from the corner, and Felix cracked a smile as he ran his fingers over the craters. _Just more proof that I ain't crazy_.

"Hey, brudda!" Wakka waved his hand in the air. "Come see _this_!"

He looked past Wakka, and Felix's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. At the bottom of the stadium, Rikku stood, bouncing from one leg to the other. Her long braids swung side to side, and she had her perpetual grin plastered on her little face.

_Of all the-_

"Heya, Yunie!" Rikku chirped.

Yuna dashed across the rotunda and embraced the Al-Bhed girl. Felix and Wakka followed, the former with a hand close to his pistol, the latter beside his wife. Wakka smiled. "Hey, Rikku! He's workin' again, ya?"

Rikku's grin widened, something Felix didn't think possible. "Yup!" She spun and pointed at something in the sky. "Brought him all the way from Home to show you guys!"

Felix squinted, gaped, squinted again, and nearly lost his cigarette. "What… what the _fuck _is that _thing_?"

A massive gold, purple, and white hull of some sort hovered above the stadium; propellers tipped with tufts of feathers spun on either side of its hull in lazy circles. Other tufts hung from the airship's long nose. At its stern, a gigantic wheel turned in a golden frame. The entire assembly looked like the result of a threesome between a Victorian-era cruise liner, a rabid ostrich, and the NASA space shuttle. Felix found himself again questioning his sanity as he acknowledged the fact that, yes, that thing was actually _flying_.

_Not flying,_ he corrected himself. _Hovering. Hovering over a stadium that creates a huge ball of water from nothing, in a country that uses giant chickens to power their boats, in a world that should not exist. _Felix shook his head and sighed. _Goddammit, I would just _love _for something _normal_ to happen around here._

Rikku bounced closer. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Not the words I'd use."

"What _are _the words you'd use?"

Yuna put a hand on Felix's shoulder before he could employ his colorful vocabulary in an effort to translate his bewilderment into words. "I know this might be a little weird, Felix, but-"

"A _little_?" Felix turned to Yuna and laughed. "Belt dresses are a _little _weird. Jamaican accents are a _little _weird. Giant hunks of feathery metal floating in the sky are _more _than a _little _weird."

Rikku raised an eyebrow. "It's just an airship! Ain'tcha ever seen one before?"

"No!"

The Al-Bhed girl's grin turned from innocent to wry. "They _really_ shelter you Spirans like that still?"

"Rikku," Yuna said, "Felix… isn't from Spira."

The young girl's smirk dropped immediately. She looked with wide eyes from Felix to Yuna and back again. "So he m-"

Yuna cut her off with a swift, uncharacteristically terse response. "No."

Rikku flinched. "Oh, I…"

One of the most awkward silences Felix ever experienced settled over the quintet.

"So, Rikku," Wakka said, "you stayin' in Luca?"

Rikku shook her head, her long braids swung back and forth. Her grin returned, but her swirling eyes told a different story to a contractor used to reading people. "Sorry! Me and Brother gotta be back soon, but I just wanted to stop by and say hi." She skipped off into the stadium.

_You did. You also raised another question I want answered_. He narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. _Something's very off with you, Rikku. _

Lulu coughed. "Yuna, you should go say hello to the Aurochs. They're still here, even thought the tournament was canceled."

Wakka slapped his forehead. "Man! I thought Jassu took 'em back home!" He looked to the locker room. "Hey, Felix, you oughta come see the locker room. We remodeled it, you know?"

The crowded rotunda made getting anywhere hell, but Yuna's status and Felix's imposing presence cleared a wide enough path for the four to slip through. A large group of children cut through their group, and Felix lost sight of Yuna and Lulu. He could still follow the path of Wakka's unmistakable hair through the crowd, though, so he pushed on in the islander's general direction. His foray didn't last very long, as another distraction – a woman in a black thong and canvas chaps – demanded Felix's _undivided_ attention.

His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Felix turned again to look for Wakka. A soft noise, just audible over the dull roar inside the dome, hijacked his attention. He paused and strained his ears, trying to make it out. The sound reached him after a moment:

_Beep._

_Beep. _

_Beep._

He turned around, the firm prodding in the back of his head telling him that something did _not _belong. His eyes locked on a small wooden crate. It lacked any untoward or distinctive markings or external characteristics at all. In fact, it looked exactly like the dozens of crates he saw lining the piers outside the stadium. What bothered Felix about _this_ crate, though, was its location.

The box rested against the large staircase that seemed to support the entire rotunda, only a few feet away from where Felix stood.

_Please, Jesus, let me be wrong. _Felix walked over and placed his shaking hands on the crate. He ran his fingers around the rim, trying to find a latch. He found the latch sealed with a small lock that gave easily when wedged with Felix's knife. He took a deep breath before looking inside.

He let it out.

Inside the crate sat bird's nest of straw, inside which rested a number of translucent glass bottles. Felix took a long pull off the cigarette to ward off the adrenaline screaming through his veins. _Guess I'm a little on edge after the other day_. He shut the crate, stood, and turned away from the box. His eyes scanned the crowd for Wakka, Lulu, or Yuna, or for a pair of assless canvas chaps.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

Felix's blood turned to ice.

He tore the lid off the box this time, not bothering to unlatch it. He dug into the straw, past the row of neatly stacked green bottles. His fingers touched metal, and the prodding in the back of his head turned into a haymaker. His heart pounding in his ears, Felix brushed the straw away. A cluster of polished, metallic cylinders sparkled in the cheery Spiran sunlight. From one end extended a bundle of multicolored wires. In the center, a single red light pulsed with ominous regularity.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

He turned and sprinted away from the box, pushing confused and angry Spirans out of his path. Felix searched in the crowd for Yuna, adrenaline and anxiety heading upward in a twin skyrocket. His blood rushed past his ears, and the steady pulsing of the now-distant box echoed in his head and seemed to grow louder with every passing second.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep_.

_There!_ Felix saw Yuna standing next to the entrance, talking with a woman wearing a football-shaped green headdress. He didn't have time to explain. His full weight slammed into the young Summoner; the two of them tumbled down the stairs and crashed to the floor. Felix wrapped his arms around her slight body and tucked her head against his chest. Over her surprised yells of protest, he could almost hear the angel of death play the finale to his monotonous sonata.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beepbeepbeepbeep-_

The shockwave slammed into Felix like a semi. The deafening explosion and the ringing in his ears drowned out the inevitable screams from the crowd. The ground began to shake, steel supports groaned when they could no longer bear the weight of stone pressing down on them. He clutched Yuna tighter, desperate to keep her under his shield of kevlar and flesh.

The rumbling began to subside.

Felix released his grip and pushed himself off Yuna. The explosion, he saw, reduced almost a quarter of the rotunda to rubble. _Charge wasn't big enough for the stadium._

His thoughts jumped onto another track. _No. That bomb wasn't for the stadium. _Felix leapt up and dashed into the ruined rotunda. _How many… _He began with the larger stones, hefting each one and tossing it down the stairs behind him. Many of the blocks were scorched, and he nearly dropped one on his foot when it burned his hand.

On either side of him, others who survived the blast began digging through the rubble. Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey!" The man yelled. "You okay?"

"Yeah!" Felix pointed at the wreckage. "We gotta get 'em out!"

Someone else slapped his shoulder. Felix turned and found himself face-to-face with none other than Wakka. "Diesel!"

He shook his head and turned back to the rubble. "Dig!"

Wakka grabbed him again and pointed at Yuna. "Take care of her, brudda! I'll get this!"

Felix nodded and sprinted back to the still-prostrate Yuna. She lay curled in the fetal position, her face pressed into her knees. He bent and hauled her up by the yellow floral obi around her waist. The buildings near the stadium seemed intact enough for shelter. Felix kicked in the door of one and tore his gun free. He set Yuna down behind a thick marble counter, crouched down beside her, and watched the chaos unfold outside.

* * *

The news sphere didn't hold his attention for long. Felix made it halfway through the fifth report of the bombing before he turned the volume all the way down and occupied himself with analyzing the day's events.

_If I didn't hear that noise…_

A soft knocking came to him through the door. Felix clicked the news sphere off and pulled on the complimentary pair of pajama pants. "C'mon in."

Yuna shut the door behind her as she walked over to the bed. She sat down on the foot of it, her hands clasped in her lap. Her hair was damp. "How… how are you?"

He offered a smile. "In one piece." His smile subsided. "Yuna, you really need your rest."

She looked down at her shaking hands. "I needed to thank you first."

Felix chuckled. "I think I already told you about that."

Yuna looked up at him. "I… I got the report from the Crusaders. Fifty-three people died in the explosion, Felix."

He let out a soft whistle and feigned surprise. "Damn."

"They don't know how the bomb got in."

_They never do_. "They'll find out, Yuna."

"Wedge-" Yuna's voice cracked. "Wedge said that this was the same men from before."

"Maybe." Felix adjusted his position on the bed and scratched his chin. "Don't do it."

Yuna looked hurt. "Do what?"

"Blame yourself for what happened."

She looked at her hands again. "They were after me, and fifty-three people paid _my-_"

Felix sat bolt upright. "Stop it," he ordered, pointing at the open window. "It's a big world out there, Yuna. Fact is, you can't control who lives or who dies. It's a fact of life, Yuna – brutal, yeah, but fact. The sooner you realize it," he added, "the sooner you'll stop blaming yourself for things you can't control."

The hurt look intensified. "But I-"

"But _nothing_," he corrected her. "Yuna, there's nothing you could've done. If you'd stayed in the building, the only difference is that fifty _four _people would have died." His voice softened, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "Yuna, you can't try and control _everything_."

Tears began to form in her green and blue eyes, and Felix felt that he _might _have been a little harsh. Yuna wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I just can't believe it really happened."

Felix nodded. _Shock, DiMarco. The girl is in shock._

Her voice cracked. "And when I think about if we stayed a minute longer-" The trickle of tears turned into a river as Yuna buried her head in her hands. Felix pulled a blanket from the corner of his bed and draped it over her. "Oh, Fayth, all those people!"

She reached up, grabbed his hand, and pulled herself against Felix. Yuna curled up against his side, and her vise-like grip on Felix's hand didn't lessen. He could feel Yuna's whole body shake. He wrapped his arm around her for support as he lay back onto his bed. As Yuna's tears dampened his chest and the feeling in his left hand faded, Felix DiMarco wondered just how objective he really was.


	11. With the Best Intentions

The Council chambers stank of cleanliness. The odor – or, more precisely, the lack thereof – often clung to clothes for days after a meeting, requiring obscene amounts of detergent to return fabric to a state of normalcy. The pleated pants and mirror-finished armor of the guards flanking the arched doorway paid mute testimony to the power residing in the long hall. A man's dress boots clattered against the flawless white marble floor; a staccato noise echoing off high, vaulted arches.

He paused before a large, ornamental mirror and adjusted the collar of his long robe, folding his broad lapels to equal widths. It took him a long moment before he nodded and turned away from the mirror.

He continued down the length of the hallway, the folds of his white robes dragging behind him. Perfumed oils clung to his nut-brown hair. He passed under the gigantic, elaborate archway and into a large chamber. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat down and joined the in-progress discussion.

The gray chairman rapped the table twice with an ornate gavel. "As many of you know," he began, "an attack made on Luca Stadium yesterday resulted in fifty-three deaths. Although no details have been released to the media at this time, our sources inside the Crusaders place the blame with the Al-Bhed."

"Outrageous!" The jowls of a graying man clad in blue and yellow robes wobbled as he shook his head. "The Al-Bhed have ever been our friends and allies."

"Indeed? Would you care to explain the attempts on Lady Yuna's life?"

"Madmen will do anything to achieve their goal," a man in green and purple robes interjected. "We can hardly blame the Al-Bhed for _everything_, but we may certainly blame them for this."

"Exactly," another man said. "It is no great secret they resent mainland Spira for decades of racism. Is it that great of a jump from resentment to rage?"

"Maester Aenna is correct," yet another of the seven remarked. "We cannot deny the evidence in front of us. Fortune was kind enough to leave footprints in the sand for us to follow."

"Fortune," the overweight man scoffed. "What know we of Fortune? She is a gaily-dressed harlot who will lead us all to ruin again. Rather we stumble about like a blind man than follow her path."

"Your talk of Fortune and evidence, Maester Getta," a fourth man interjected, "serves no purpose but to waste time and make idiots of sensible men." He tapped his pen on the table. "We are neglecting one fact: if the Al-Bhed are indeed responsible, what is to stop them from another such attack?"

Silence.

"Furthermore," Maester Aenna said, picking up the other man's argument, "were the people of Spira to find out the entirety of the Al-Bhed's involvement, we can be certain a violent backlash would result. The tensions between Spirans and the Al-Bhed are no great secret."

"We can be certain of nothing," the man with white robes and brown hair said, "other than what can be proven in this chamber."

The chairman frowned. "You see fit to join us at last, Maester Nayla?"

"Indeed, Maester Nade." Nayla bowed his head. "Forgive me my tardiness."

"Forgiven."

"Contrary to Maester Aenna's assumption," Nayla continued, "I am not convinced that Spira would react to the news with overwhelming violence. Xenophobia and hostile segregation, yes, but not anarchical violence. Sin's scars are all too raw for Spira to plunge herself into another cycle of death over something as trivial as a bomb. It took considerable effort to convince her people to turn against Yevon, and yet you believe she would turn against her neighbors – regardless of how she feels about them – for the cost of a few lives? No, something greater would have to occur in order for Spira to react with spontaneous violence on the scale you stated."

"_Trivial_?"

"In the grand scheme of things, yes." He toyed with the pendant chained about his neck. "In another thousand years, what will fifty-three lives matter? In another thousand years, who will care who tried to kill whom? Memories fade; time twists them into bizarre images that may or may not be true. Time is the cruelest mistress of all, Maester Getta. Never forget that."

"Regardless, you cannot justify what the Al-Bhed have done."

"I do not recall trying," Nayla shot back.

"It sounded remarkably like you did, Maester Nayla."

"You sound remarkably ignorant."

"Gentlemen, such pointless bickering only hinders our purpose."

"Apologies, Maester Nade."

"Apologies."

"There is another issue," one of the Council said. "Lady Yuna herself."

"She is young and naïve, Maester Getta. It is not inconceivable that she is quite shaken by these recent events. Perhaps her decision-making skills – however lacking they were to begin with – have been compromised."

"Young, yes. Naïve, Maester Nayla, I think not. One does not rise to and maintain political power by sticking one's head in the sand. The people adore her – she is one of their own, in their eyes, and has done nothing but strive to improve life for them – but she is certainly not naïve."

Nayla drummed his fingers on the table. "It is entirely possible that Lady Yuna would _not _have risen to power if it were not for her ancestry."

"You refer, of course, to Lord Braska?"

"I refer to both Lord Braska and his Al-Bhed wife. Lady Yuna's split heritage gives her both an advantage and a weakness."

"A weakness, Maester Nayla?"

"Surely," Getta interrupted, "you are not insinuating she sympathizes with the Al-Bhed as a result of her mixed blood?"

"My statements were plain, Maester Getta. Infer what you will."

"I certainly do not appreciate allegations that Lady Yuna is a traitor."

"Is that what I said?" Maseter Nayla mused. "I could swear I made a simple observation, and not an allegation of treason. Perhaps it is your _own _mind, Maester Aenna, and not mine, that has indemnified Lady Yuna."

"No one has indemnified anyone during this meeting, Maester Nayla."

"And no one _will_, so long as this Council has a purpose to fulfill. We are gentlemen, not Blitzers. Conduct yourselves as such." Nade sighed and reached for an inkwell. He dipped the metal-encased end of a chocobo feather into the ink, and began to scrawl a few words onto a sheet of parchment before him. "Gentlemen of the Council, we have before us a long day."

Maester Aenna closed his eyes and reclined in his seat. "Indeed."

* * *

He closed the distance quickly. Yuna raised her staff and leaned forward to intercept the blow, but Felix knocked it away with the back of his hand. He lifted her up and pinned her against the wall of the temple. He tapped the tip of her nose with the flat of his knife. "You lost again."

"So I'm a little rusty," she said, smiling. "And tired – we've been doing this for well over an hour, now."

"Gonna quit on me?"

Yuna gritted her teeth. "Of course not. I just with you'd stop surprising me like that."

"If I was an attacker, I'm not going to stop and notify you before I kill you. If you can't defend yourself when you are surprised, then you can't defend yourself."

She straightened herself out, picking her staff off the ground. "So how would I stop someone like that?"

He stepped forward and took the staff from her hands. "See this staff?"

"Yes."

Felix let it clatter to the ground. "Forget you have this. If you can't beat me with your hands," he said, grinning, "you can't beat me _period_."

A sigh of impatience escaped Yuna's lips. "We both know I can't beat you!"

"Yeah." Felix shifted his weight onto his back foot, sheathed his knife, and motioned to Yuna. "Now punch me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah." He tapped his chin. "Hit me as hard as you can."

Yuna reared back and swung her fist in a wide arc. Felix trapped her hand in his and pulled Yuna wildly off-balance. She let out a squeak of surprise, and Felix let go of her fist. "Try again."

"No fair!"

"Life's not fair," Felix laughed. An idea hit him. He pulled his pistol from its holster, ejected the magazine, and made sure the chamber was clear. Yuna looked at him quizically, and he pointed the pistol at the ground. "Think you can get this away from me?"

"I'll try."

Felix snapped the pistol up. Yuna latched onto his forearm and stepped forward, trying to push his line of fire away from her body. _Nuh-uh-uh. Too slow. _He swept her legs out from under her with a smooth kick, and laughed as Yuna flailed her arms in an attempt to regain her balance. He couldn't catch her before she hit the ground, and Felix laughed harder. "You okay?"

"Yes," she scowled up at him from the ground. "That wasn't funny."

"Not from _your _point of view, no." Felix's smile dropped. "Check it."

She did, and her eyes widened as she saw the muzzle of Felix's pistol hovering over her abdomen. Yuna's scowl switched places with a sheepish grin. "I guess I lost again, right?"

He paused for a moment to stop his disused sex drive from coming up with a plethora of fantasies having to do with Yuna sprawled on the ground. _I think I have enough of _those _already, thank you very much_. "Yeah, I think you did."

"Felix?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I get up now?"

"Yeah." He helped her to her feet. "Ready to try again?"

She nodded, and Felix trained his gun on her. Yuna grabbed onto his arm again, as expected, but her left leg did something very _un_expected – it shot upward into Felix's groin. He groaned and pitched to the ground, stars dancing in front of his eyes. The earth in his face muffled a long string of obscenities, all of which had something to do with the girl responsible for the blow.

He rolled over, clutching himself, and saw a grinning Yuna holding his pistol. "That's what you'd call payback," she said, a touch of pride in her voice. "I win!"

"Like hell," he growled. Felix's hand flashed up and yanked Yuna down by a pair of decorative cords hanging from her obi. She fell next to him, and her elbow collided with his stomach. His wind rushed out. He flipped Yuna onto her back and swung one leg over her. Felix pinned her wrists over her head, but she managed to wiggle one free and slap him across the face. He released her other hand and laughed as Yuna pounded on his chest, her entire body squirming out from underneath him.

"Hey," Yuna giggled, "no fair!"

It took Felix a moment to realize the compromising nature of their position. Yuna's legs were locked around his waist, holding him in place as she beat on his chest. His own arms were braced astride her shoulders, his wrists pressing against her warm pounding on his chest slowed, and a blush crept onto Yuna's face as she, presumably, realized the same thing.

He took a moment to appreciate the situation. Yuna's hair formed a sort of light brown halo about her head; the flush on her face highlighted her mismatched eyes. The breaths slipping from between parted lips lifted and lowered Yuna's breasts in a rhythmic motion, and Felix prayed a certain hardening part of his body wasn't resting on her.

Someone cleared their throat behind Felix. "I _assume_," Lulu began, the chill in her voice making him thankful for the pistol at his side, "that this is your way of teaching Yuna self-defense?"

He rolled off a bright-red Summoner and wiped a smear of dirt from his face. "She's gotta learn some groundfighting, too."

Lulu narrowed her eyes.

"What, don't believe me?" Felix pointed at his groin. "Ask these two; Yuna put 'em through hell and back today."

Felix heard Yuna stifle a laugh.

"I hope Yuna has enough energy le-"

Someone burst through the trees, and Felix whirled to face a very out-of-breath Wakka. "Hey," the blitzer panted, "Yuna, you gotta come back."

Yuna sat up. "Is something wrong?"

"Lu, did you tell 'er?"

"Not yet." Lulu paused for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts. "Yuna, there's been an emergency."

She jumped to her feet. "Is someone hurt?" Yuna looked from Lulu to Wakka in a frantic rush. Felix stood and reloaded his pistol.

_No use getting all worked up just yet, Yuna._

Lulu's voice dropped its iciness. "Yuna, you need to go to Bevelle."

"WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME SOMETHING?" The Summoner demanded, her face red.

"The Council is convening tomorrow, Yuna."

* * *

Felix sighed. He unfastened and refastened his belt in an idle rhythm, watching the polymer clasp engage with all the interest he would give to the World Series of Poker. He stood up from the soft bench and sighed again. Lulu and Wakka sat on another bench across a small table from him, inside what the guards outside referred to as the 'guest lobby'. High columns carved with intricate patterns dominated the mostly open space; the arched windows high overhead allowed ample light into the room. He studied the broad, studded door to his left. "_Why_ aren't we allowed in there?"

"Because," Lulu explained, her impatience audible, "only Council members are permitted to enter the Chamber of Unity." She adjusted her position on the couch.

"Yeah." Wakka stretched his arms and scratched at his neck. "It's kinda like a private club, you know?"

"Didn't Yuna say the Church fell two years ago?"

"Yes."

"Before I start busting locks, remind me what's stopping us from opening that door and being somewhere _other _than outside like a bunch of pets."

"Even though the Church fell, the Chamber of Unity is still off-limits to civilians. Only Summoners and the Council can go inside."

"Not even guardians, eh?"

"No. Not even guardians."

"Plus," Wakka chimed in, "we don't have the key."

Felix tapped his concealed pistol. "I'll _make _a fuckin' key."

"It's a sphere lock," Lulu said, playing with the white lace decorating her black dress. "Brute force will get you nowhere." The garment's low neckline – hell, _everything _the woman owned had a low neckline – came dangerously close to exposing a pair of breasts Felix wouldn't have minded seeing unholstered.

Especially after eight hours of looking at marble, velvet, wood, some more marble, a little more velvet, dealing with the occasional bureaucrat nagging him about his attire, humoring the guards asking about his tattoos, and studying the inside of his eyelids.

"Ain't that a bitch." Felix withdrew a cigarette from his dwindling pack. _Gotta get a new one soon. _He never enjoyed rationing smokes, but hard-learned habits were easily utilized. "So we just wait here for _another _eight hours, or what?"

"We wait until the meeting is over, and we leave when Yuna leaves."

"Fair enough," Felix said. He chuckled and slumped back into his seat. "I should charge her by the hour. I'd make a _killing _off these meetings."

"Not funny."

"Ya, Brudda."

He shrugged. "I'm a contractor, not a comedian."

"That's quite evident."

"Smartass." Felix waggled his cigarette and looked about for a source of ignition.

"The guards already told you, you can't smoke in here."

"Oh, god_damn _it," he groaned. "How about _breathing_? Is _that_ okay with the lifestyle nazis?"

"The what?"

He put his face in his hands. "Christ, I think I'm gonna lose my mind in this place."

"'Going to'?"

"Go to hell," he groaned.

"I'm already sitting _here_; what more do you want?"

Felix diverted his mind from ways to kill Lulu and get away with it by eyeing a passing pair of armored guards. _Looks like they've got ceremonial rifles of some kind. No visible magazine or sights. Large diameter barrel, but no muzzle brake. Damn thing must kick like a mule_. The men wore a set of reflective silver armor over white cotton, and their ornate helmets carried a bobbing plume of matching white feathers. They marched in perfect lockstep; their armored boots clanked on the marble floors until they reached the arched doorway to the main hall.

He stood again and walked over to the two men. "How much longer they gonna be?"

No response.

"Hey, I asked you a question."

"They will speak only when ordered to," a voice pronounced from the opening door. "Or to a superior."

The guards clicked their heels together. "Hail, Maester Nayla!"

A man in elegant white robes stood in the gaping doorway, his hands hidden inside wide sleeves. A thin, silver hairpiece held his jaw-length brown hair away from a set of almond-shaped, dark eyes. Around the man's neck hung a silver chain, from which dangled an elaborate, jeweled pendant in the shape of an odd glyph.

Lulu rose from her seated position. "Maester Nayla," she said, something resembling actual _respect _in her voice. "Has the meeting ended already?"

'_Already'?_

"We are having a minor adjournment," Nayla said. "I'm sure Lady Yuna will make her way out in a few minutes." He flicked his gaze to Felix. "Who," he asked, "might you be? I don't recall seeing you around Lady Yuna before, and I pride myself on being good with important faces."

"One of Yuna's guardians," Lulu answered. "He-"

Felix stepped forward. "Felix," he said, with a purposeful look at Lulu. "Yuna asked me to be her guardian after Luca."

"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Felix. You may call me Maester Nayla."

The two men exchanged a firm handshake before Maester Nayla glanced over his shoulder, turned, and bowed. "Lady Yuna."

"Hail, Lady Yuna!"

Yuna brushed her light brown hair out of her face. "Maester Nayla," she said, bowing. The hem of her graceful blue-and-white dress swept the floor. Her back straightened, and she smiled. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long."

"It appears you lack nothing in protection, Lady Yuna. No small wonder you've escaped our recent tragedies unscathed."

She bowed. "I trust my Guardians with my life, Maester."

"Good," Nayla said. He began walking down the long hallway away from the foursome, flanked by his ceremonial guards. "May they keep you safe in these," he paused, "_troubled_ times."

Felix watched as the pale-robed figure of the Maester shrank in the stony distance. The man's authoritative and impassive aura seemed to linger in the room.

Yuna sat down on the bench next to Lulu, and the pointed toes of burnished leather boots peeked out from under her dress. "Are any of you thirsty?"

"I'm fine," Lulu said.

"I'm good, Yuna."

"I'd _kill_ someone for a bottle of sake." _Especially someone wearing a black dress with white lace._

Yuna cocked an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Liquor in the temple?" Wakka shook his head. "Not in Spira, brudda. Just 'cause we got rid of Yevon don't mean we can disrespect all the traditions, you know?"

"No smoking, no drinking… let me guess: no swearing either, right?"

Lulu coughed.

Felix dropped his head into his hands again. "Yuna, do they have _water _in this enjoyment-forsaken hellhole?"

"Yes," Yuna laughed. "I'll ask someone to get you a glass." She rang a bell on the table, and a young man in simple robes emerged from within the Chamber.

"Do you require something, Lady Yuna?"

"Some water, please."

The boy bowed. "As you command." He retreated into the chamber, and returned a moment later with a pitcher of water and four glasses, which he set on the table before leaving again.

"Damn, _that's _all I had to do to get something?" Felix shook his head and laughed. "I figured I'd have to sign some kind of blood oath, or chop one of my own fingers off, or sell my soul to Lulu to get a drink around here."

Lulu scowled.

Yuna blanched. "Why on Spira would you say that?"

He gestured at the hallway. "There's so many cases of 'stick up ass' in this place, I could start a lumber mill with some laxatives."

Wakka choked on his drink, and Lulu punched him in the shoulder.

Felix stood up. "I'm gonna take a look around."

"I'll go with you," Yuna said. "Think of me as a tour guide."

"Be my guest, _boss._"

* * *

Lulu frowned as she watched Yuna and Felix walk off down the corridor. She could hear her chiding him for his irreverence, and she shook her head.

"Something the matter, Lu?" Wakka scooted closer to his wife and slid his arm around her.

"I'm worried that they're getting too close for their own good."

Wakka raised his eyebrow. "Really?"

"That 'grappling' session today looked more like a dry run at intercourse to me, and I don't appreciate him acting like that towards Yuna. She's vulnerable, and a Guardian who she _pays _shouldn't be taking advantage of that."

"Think maybe you're overreacting, Lu?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Well, Felix is doin' his job good, and him and Yuna get along just fine, you know? I don't see any reason to get upset."

"_You _aren't the one she'll come to when she gets hurt," Lulu whispered.

"Say something?"

"No." Lulu gave Wakka a peck on the cheek. "Do you mind if I take a little nap?"

"Just make sure to stay on your side of the couch, ya?" Wakka winked. "Don't want none of the 'lifestyle Nazis' givin' me trouble."

"You idiot," She mumbled, her eyes closed.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But I'm _your _idiot, Lu."

Lulu intertwined her fingers with her husband's.

* * *

They walked in silence for a while as Felix scanned the walls around him. Carvings of odd-looking men, women, and children decorated the walls between the same columns found in the guest lobby. They stared back at Felix; their stony eyes seemed to analyze his every aspect; to study him just as intently as he studied them.

"Felix, I thought I warned you already. If someone heard you talk about the Council like that-"

He broke away from the statues. "They can take a number."

"Take a number?" Yuna asked.

"Back home, when lines were real long, they had a little machine with numbered tickets inside. You took a ticket, then waited until another machine called your number." Felix paused. "God, the DMV used to be _hell_. I _still _think they messed with the numbering in those things, just for shits and giggles."

"DMV?"

"Department of Motor Vehicles."

She raised an eyebrow, and Felix groaned. "Think machina on wheels, that you use to go places."

"That's weird," Yuna said, "and doesn't sound very safe."

"No weirder or less safe than riding a giant yellow chicken," Felix shot back.

"Giant yellow chicken? You mean a chocobo, right?"

"Yeah, those things."

"Chocobos are the most common form of transportation in Spira. Besides, they got us here quickly, didn't they?"

"At the expense of comfort and my sense of smell, yes." Felix shuddered as the scent of oily feathers and ultra-sized bird shit came back to him. "We should've just taken one of those Al-Bhed machina."

"The Al-Bhed don't let outsiders use their technology," Yuna said. "Even now, there's still a rift between them and Spirans."

"So I noticed."

"As half Spiran and half Al-Bhed, part of my duty is to help close that gap. Unfortunately," she sighed, "doing so is far from easy. Many Spirans are still unwilling to let go of their prejudice, and the Al-Bhed cope by remaining withdrawn from mainland Spira."

"Wasn't Rikku here, though?"

"Yes. For her role in defeating Sin, most of Spira reluctantly sees her as a hero. Her family – Rikku's older brother and her father, Cid, who owns the airship – receive the same recognition by extension." Yuna shook her head. "And still, they are unable to stay for more than a few days at a time. Maybe someday, I can make the people see the Al-Bhed as people, too. I refuse to allow my heritages to continue this separate existance. It's only a matter of striving for a common dream; of sharing the same dreams of unity. As long as more people love than hate, we can work together to become one nation. A united Spira is my ultimate goal."

"Noble." Felix sighed again, inwardly. _She's mature for her age, but every now and then that kid in her shows herself. You can't make things like that go away overnight._

She smiled at him, and adjusted the position of her dress's halter. "Tell me a little more about Chicago."

"It was crowded," he said, "and usually windy. Sometimes the wind would get so bad, the skyscrapers' windows got sucked out."

"'Skyscrapers'?"

Felix pointed up. "Buildings that looked like they were scraping the sky. Businessmen used 'em as offices and shit. Weren't many where I grew up, though. I only saw 'em when I went into the city."

Yuna shook her head. "It's weird," she said, a measure of sadness in her voice. "Your world is so different from Spira in many ways, but it's the same in others."

"Yeah," Felix said, leaning back, "it was."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Home, you mean?" Felix rubbed his chin. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes, I'll have a dream like I'm back home. Then I wake up, and I realize that I'm a long way from my bed." He bit his lip. "Not like I ever slept in my bed much."

"Lots of fights with your wife?"

Felix snapped his head around to look at Yuna. "_What_?"

"I'm sorry," Yuna said. "When Lulu gets mad at Wakka, she makes him sleep on the-"

"No shit." Felix stared down the hall, surprised at his own reaction. "Yeah, that's one reason. I've been away from what I called 'home' most all my life, except–" He caught himself.

"Except?"

"Except growing up." Felix clenched his fist, and could almost feel the chipped paint on a cold steel bar rub against his skin.

A hand gripped his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Felix."

"It's okay." Felix didn't look up. "Just some ghosts of mine, is all."

"I know what you mean," she said, her voice soft.

_I don't think you do._ "Oh?"

"Yes." She forced a smile. "But someone once told me that memories are just that – memories. They're nice, sometimes, but that's all they are."

"Who told you that?"

"Rikku."

"The obnoxious one?"

"She's not _that _bad!"

"Yuna, anyone who _jumps _on people is obnoxious, plain and simple."

"Says who?"

"Says the guy who got jumped on!" Felix laughed.

"She's just friendly!"

"No, a _handshake_ is friendly."

"Oh, and a hug isn't?"

"It is," Felix admitted. "But it isn't always welcome."

"What if _I _hug you?"

"That's different."

"Oh? How so?"

He sighed. "You're my _boss." And I wouldn't screw Rikku._

"And?"

"And that means I can just write it off as one of your manyeccentricities."

"Wait, 'many'?" Yuna crossed her arms. "Name three, and that one doesn't count."

_For starters, I wouldn't mind pulling you into one of these alcoves. Or into that Chamber thing. Or down on the guest bench. Hell, how about the floor? _"I lied. Sue me."

"You keep saying that, and none of us know what it means."

"'Suing' is when you hire a lawyer to bitch about something until the judge makes someone pay up."

"And _why _would you want me to do that to you?"

"It's just an expression. It's another way of saying 'I did something, but I don't really care'."

Yuna tapped a finger against her lips in mock seriousness. "Perhaps I shall, then. Felix, I am suing you for lying to me."

"I'll need a lawyer."

"How about Lulu?" She suggested.

He laughed. "Hell no! She'd have the judge convinced to _hang _me!"

"Hang?"

"Kill. Execute. Deprive me of my living privileges."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

He laughed again. "Whatever you say, _boss_. I'll just go pay a visit to Master Dragqueen and ask him to give me divine protection."

She punched him in the arm. "Someone could _hear_ you!"

"Let 'em," Felix said.

"That reminds me. Can I ask you to promise me something?"

"Shoot."

"Don't do anything on your own initiative, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

Yuna sighed. "It's important that I show the Council I'm in charge. If they see you acting on your own and ignoring what I tell you, everything I've worked for in here will come crashing down. Can you promise me that?"

He rested his hand on her bare shoulder, enjoying the feel of Yuna's skin. "No problem."

She slipped her hand over his. "Thanks."

Felix heard footsteps coming from the visitor's lobby.

Yuna pushed away from Felix and clasped her hands, just as Wakka turned the corner into the hallway. "Yes?"

"Yuna," he called, "they're startin' back up!"

"Coming!"

"Be there in a minute." Felix watched his employer rush down the hall, and wondered just _when _his sense of objectivity went straight to a bench with Lulu.

* * *

Maester Nayla reclined in his seat. "And so, gentlemen, the choice is clear."

"Far from it," Maester Getta said. "You leave much to be desired in the clarity department."

"Indeed, Maester Nayla."

"Agreed."

"Well then," Maester Nayla said, sitting forward, "let me make everything _perfectly_ clear. The Al-Bhed are responsible for the assassination attempts against Lady Yuna; that fact is thus far indisputable. Bikanel has failed to make _any _statements to alter our findings. A total of seventy-three Spirans are dead as a result of Lady Yuna's political heel-dragging. It is clear, to _me_ at least, that Spira must react with force appropriate to that used against her."

Maester Nade furrowed his eyebrows. "What force do you recommend, Maester Nayla?"

"Swift and immediate retaliation. The Al-Bhed Rin has a number of business ventures set up throughout Spira; it would not be difficult for detachments of Crusaders to shut them all down. With such an economic hamstringing, Bikanel will be forced to heed our overtures."

"Such an action, Maeseter Nayla, would in all likelihood provoke a hostile reaction from Bikanel, rather than your intended seizure of criminals."

"So be it," he sighed. "They can hardly be considered our allies if they refuse closure for the deceased. There is a word that one uses to describe those who act only to obstruct your actions; I believe it is _enemy_."

"_War_?" Maester Getta jumped to his feet, his waves of fat jostling up and down. "On such shaky pretenses as these? You are mad, Maester Nayla. Completely mad."

A smile creased the Maester's face as the door to the chamber creaked open. "Perhaps Lady Yuna will be kind enough to share _her _thoughts on the matter."

Yuna's eyes wandered down the long table as she reached her seat opposing Maester Nade. "Maesters of the Council," she began, "I overheard that you wish to retaliate against the Al-Bhed for their involvement in the attacks on my life. As High Summoner of Spira, I move to forbid any and all actions, military or otherwise, explicitly targeting the Al-Bhed, Bikanel, or their governmental and economic infrastructure."

A hushed silence fell around the table.

Maester Nayla rubbed his pendant.

"You have done nothing but prove the race of the men who took innocent lives, and yet have failed to produce any evidence to suggest that Home itself is responsible for the attacks. Just as you cannot burn a forest as revenge for a tree falling on your home, I refuse to blame an entire race for the decisions of misguided men, however shocking and deplorable the results of those decisions may be may be.

"You, Maester Nayla, suggest that we cut the Al-Bhed's collective economic hamstrings. It is my heartfelt belief that reacting in such a fashion will only sever the already strained ties between Bikanel and Bevelle. Spira is no longer a place for violence to dwell – diplomacy must reign if we are to maintain our Calm."

Maester Getta stood to his feet. "Well spoken, Lady Yuna, well spoken." He set a glowing blue sphere into a recession in the table. "I stand behind your decision. Let us prevent any further bloodshed."

Ten other spheres, colored to represent the Maesters' individual districts, clicked into their divots. Maester Nayla, however, rolled his white sphere back and forth between his hands on the table.

Maester Nade rose. "Very well, Lady Yuna. The Council has voted to enforce and support your decision." He bowed. "You may leave."

After the double doors swung shut, Nade turned to face the other six members of the Council. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe we have reached a clear-cut decision. There will be no actions against the Al-Bhed made by this Council; however, we will continue our investigation. This meeting is now adjourned; you may return to your respective quarters."

The men filtered out through the large door, Maesters Nade and Nayla bringing up the rear. Maester Nade turned and faced his subordinate. "She argued her point well enough to convince the entire Council, and yet you do not support her?"

Maester Nayla looked over his shoulder as he passed out of the chamber. "My duty lies with Spira, Maester. Not with a half-blooded village girl."

* * *

"So what is there to do in Bevelle?" Felix asked. He and Wakka walked along a wide, carpeted path following a glassy river through the heart of the city. "Doesn't seem like much of a capitol to me."

"Bevelle is one of Spira's oldest cities, brudda." Wakka pointed over his shoulder at the temple, the motion pulling his unbuttoned dress shirt open. "All sorts of old stuff to look at, you know?"

"Never was one for museums."

"Me neither. Lu always liked 'em, though." Wakka paused for a moment and slid his shirtsleeves back up his forearms. "Yuna's pretty cute, ya?"

"Hell of a subject change."

"Just askin'."

_Hmm. _Felix blew a cloud of smoke over the railing of the walkway. "Gettin' tired of sleepin' on the couch all the time, huh?"

Wakka turned bright red as he realized what the contractor implied. "No way, brudda! I di- I don- I'm just askin' if _you_, you know…"

He blew another cloud of smoke and pretended to ponder his answer."Yeah," Felix said. "She is."

"Don't you be gettin' any ideas, brudda."

_If only you knew. _"Ideas?"

"I heard 'bout you two yesterday," Wakka said, his arms crossed. "I'm just warnin' you 'cause I like you, and Lu's startin' to get pretty upset about it. Yuna's had some real problems after Sir Tidus left, and it's not like her to be so comfortable around a guy. I mean, she's had a bunch of guys try and pick her up, but Lulu scared off most of them. Never seen her have a guy around her so much."

Felix flashed a smile. "Worried I might _corrupt_ her?"

"I'm worried she might get hurt again," Wakka muttered. His voice regained its earlier confidence. "You just make sure you keep everything professional, ya?"

"S'my job. Keep your shirt on. 'Sides, didn't you say Guardians are supposed to have a 'connection' with their Summoner?"

"_Yuna_ said that."

"Point stands."

Wakka sighed. "You sure you're cool?"

"Already answered that," Felix chuckled. "I get along with Yuna, she hasn't bitched about me, and she pays on time. I don't get why you're worried."

"Me and Lu always been like parents to her." Wakka smiled. "Guess you could say we're bein' professional, too."

"Mom and dad watchin' out for their other kid, huh?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

Felix didn't mention the icy knot he got when Yuna went missing, or that he held her the entire night of the bombing, even after she fell asleep, or the fact that he wished Lulu chose to show up on the hill an hour or so later. "Yeah. I gotcha."

Wakka slapped him on the shoulder. "Knew you'd understand, brudda."

* * *

"The meeting went well, I take it?"

Yuna smiled. "I think so. I managed to convince the Council not to provoke the Al-Bhed – there's been enough bloodshed already." She sipped the wine from her glass. "Were you bored outside?"

"It wasn't bad," Lulu chuckled. "Wakka slept for most of the time, and Felix found ways to entertain himself." The black mage's smile lessened. "Yuna, do you get along well with him?"

"Felix? Yes," Yuna said. "Although he _does_ tend to get himself in trouble a lot, and isn't exactly unobtrusive, I feel safer with him around. A couple thousand Gil is a small price to pay for that, you know?"

"You two don't have any issues, then?"

Yuna frowned. "Not that _I _know of. Why?"

"For starters, I know you spent the night in his room in Luca."

"He let me cry on him," Yuna explained, staring into her wine. "I needed someone to be with, and you and Wakka were already asleep."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"Are you _sure_?"

"_Yes_," Yuna insisted. "He was just doing his job."

"What about today?"

She turned red and studied the table. "Self defense training."

Lulu paused. "Do you find Felix attractive?"

She almost choked. "Why are- what do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said: do you find Felix attractive?"

"Well," she sputtered, "I-"

"You thought he might have been from Zanarkand," Lulu interrupted, "didn't you."

Yuna stared into her drink. "Yes," she whispered.

"Is that why you feel close to him?"

"I- I don't exactly know."

Lulu raised her eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'you don't know'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like!" Yuna shot back.

The black mage frowned. "You're awfully worked up about this."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Yuna folded her arms across her breasts. "I really appreciate you looking out for me, Lulu, but I'm a big girl now. You can trust me to take care of my own personal life."

"You're spending the night in a room with a man who kills people for a living!"

"What is your _problem _with him?" Yuna demanded. "He's saved all of our lives – for all we know, _Riko _could've died if Felix didn't hear those gunshots at the stadium!"

"_My _problem is that you don't seem to realize who you're getting involved with! We asked him to be your Guardian because you agreed with me that it could be dangerous if someone else hired him, and _now _you're rolling around in the grass together! Are you even thinking straight anymore?" Lulu's voice softened. "I just want you to be careful, Yuna." She reached across the table and put a hand on Yuna's shoulder. "Please, just do _that_ for me."

* * *

"Hey," Felix said. He stood next to Yuna, against the wrought iron railing lining the hotel's open top floor. He waggled his bottle of sake. "Drink?"

She smiled. "No, thanks." Yuna opened her mouth again, then closed it.

Her weak smile tipped him off."What's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

_Liar. _He leaned against the sliding glass doors to the observation deck. "Nothing? Or something?"

"Nothing."

Felix sighed and popped the bottle open. "Nice night, huh?"

"Yes."

He took a drink. "Are you going to answer me in words with more than two syllables, or are we going to have 'Cavesummoner Night'?"

"It's a possibility."

He stepped next to her and grinned. "Smartass."

Yuna smiled at the horizon. "That's no way to talk to your boss."

"My deepest apologies, Lady Yuna." He took a deep bow, straightened, then took another swig of sake. A soft breeze rippled the fabric of Yuna's pajamas, pressing the dark red cloth against the curves of her body. Felix knew she wouldn't be able to see his eyes roving over her frame, nor could she know how tempting it was to just grab her _right now_ and-

"Why did you say yes?"

Felix raised an eyebrow. "To?"

"Being my Guardian."

He sighed and leaned against the railing. "Tell you the truth?"

She nodded.

"When I showed up here, I figured I was either dead or crazy. The more I walked around, the more I started to realize both of 'em were wrong. Fighting those guys in the stadium, though, gave me something familiar." Felix paused and took a drink.

"Money?"

"You've spent too much time around Lulu," he laughed. "Cash makes the world go 'round, yeah, but there're better reasons to fight."

Yuna drummed her fingers on the railing. "Such as?"

He waved the bottle at her.

"_Me_?"

"And Lulu," Felix added, "and Wakka, their kid, and however many people were at the stadium, or the sending, or anywhere else. Everyone needs money – shit, that's mostly why I became a contractor in the first place – but if that's all you live for, you've a sad-ass life. I have a job to do again. I can't really explain it," he admitted, "but it's comforting to know I've still got a purpose."

"I see," Yuna said. She clasped her hands. "Felix?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad… you're my Guardian."

Felix smiled. "I-"

"_You _should be asleep."

He turned to see Lulu standing in front of the sliding doors. In place of her black and white dress, she wore a pair of black pants and a gray blouse. "Lulu."

"Yuna, please get some rest. I'm sure you must be tired from your long day."

Yuna nodded. "Goodnight, Lulu. Felix."

"Night."

"Goodnight." The doors slid shut, and Lulu crossed her arms. "What in _Spira _is your problem?"

"What, I can't talk to my boss alone?"

"Don't give me that," Lulu snapped. She walked closer. "You had better be careful with her."

"What the fuck are you-"

"If you _ever _hurt her… I'll kill you."

He narrowed his eyes. "Just _what _are you accusing me of?"

"Two years ago, a boy washed up on Besaid."

"No shit, Sir Tidus. What's he got to-"

"Yuna fell in love with him within a matter of days."

Felix took a drink. "The kid's dead."

"Not quite. He never existed. Sir Tidus was a dream of the Fayth; a physical manifestation of pyreflies and memories. He might never have really _lived_, for all we know now, but he was real to Yuna."

"So she fell in love with a dead guy?"

"She fell in love with a dream," Lulu corrected him. "A dream that walked, and talked, and breathed, and bled. After he disappeared – not 'died', as you put it, but faded away – Yuna dropped into a deep depression. Every night for the months that followed, she walked to the edge of the beach and whistled. We found her out there in the pouring rain, once, hypothermic, with her fingers still in her mouth."

He stared at the flickering lamps below. "She really loved that kid, huh?"

"Quite." She drummed her fingers on the railing. "It took some time for her to be even _remotely _comfortable around men, even Wakka. All of a sudden, you two are inseparable. I don't know what happened, and I don't want your excuses anymore. It doesn't matter to me who started what – if you have anything other than a healthy working relationship with Yuna, I want it _gone_."

"That right?" Felix didn't look at the black mage; his thoughts fixated instead on a certain young woman with mismatched eyes.

"Yes. Do you understand now?"

"Yeah."


	12. Friendly Eyes, Hostile Skies

The full moon and Felix's glowing cigarette provided just enough light for him to study the eleven men in front of him. Stains of sweat and dirt covered their muted gray coveralls; their sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. In their arms sat Al-Bhed assault rifles, ribbed magazines sticking out of stamped metal receivers. He took the cigarette from his mouth. "Rock 'n' roll; control drill! Fire!" Their rifles chattered in unison, spent casings tinkling to the ground in a brass cascade. Harsh light from muzzle flashes reflected off the falling shells and played over the jungle. Felix's night vision shattered in an instant. Rounds punched through steel drums set up several meters away, whining off into the brush, snapping twigs and hissing through leaves.

_"You want me to do what, now?"_

_Wedge sat forward in his chair. "I want to you help re-train the Besaid Crusaders."_

"Again!"

_"Re-train?" Felix blew smoke at the ceiling. "What's wrong with your training now?"_

_"You said it yourself: swords aren't going to help us against the Al-Bhed. In Besaid, the Crusaders' job has always been to defend Lady Yuna. We don't have the training to deal with these new threats."_

"You fuckers make me _sick_," he barked. "Move up!"

_"We've got some machina we captured from the Al-Bhed in the past weeks. Can you train us to use 'em?"_

_Another cloud of smoke issued from his mouth. "You want the Besaid Crusaders to be a kind of Special Forces or something?"_

_"If that's what they called it where you come from, then yes."_

The line edged its way forward, their rifles still barking.

_"It ain't gonna be fun."_

"Reload!"

The firing ceased as eleven new magazines slammed home.

_"Didn't count on it."_

"Drop!"

_"One more thing."_

_"Shoot."_

_"I want you to stay on with us, as an honorary Crusader. I'll put you in as a sergeant – that's right under me, by the way, but I'm not gonna breathe down your neck. I hate to admit it," Wedge added with a shake of his head, "but you're better at this job than me. We could use a guy like you."_

Felix replaced the cigarette in his mouth. He felt, rather than heard, rocks and sticks shift under his feet as he moved closer to the line. The firing of the prostrate men in front of him became more sporadic, but the _ping_s became more regular. "Recover!"

_"You know I have a contract with Yuna."_

_"Protecting Yuna is the Besaid Crusaders' main focus, now and always. It's off the record, and Luca won't hear of it, but it's what we do. Whenever a Summoner is born, the Crusaders from that city are more loyal to them than to Spira. Yuna's like family on this island. To the point, your position as Crusader Sergeant won't interfere with your contract."_

Felix crossed his arms. "Move left!"

_"What's the catch?"_

_"If we're deployed, we'll have to ask you to come."_

_A predatory grin jumped onto Felix's face. "I call _that_ a _bonus_."_

"Move right!"

_"How long do you think it'll take?"_

_Felix sighed. "If you give me twenty hours a day… a week."_

"Safe 'em!" He looked behind him and noticed pink and orange fingers of light peeking through the foliage. The sun was now rising on day seven.

* * *

He turned away from the sunrise, the bright light drilling through thin clouds and into the frigate's cockpit. "Almost time, _syda_."

Sig looked up from his book. "Is it?"

"Yep." Higa dropped into the bucket seat next to the older man and laughed. He ran his hands over the control panel in front of him. "This one handles like a piece of shit, _syda_."

"Regardless, we could not take our airship on this foray."

"Don't see why the fuck not," Higa grunted. "Ain't like anyone's gonna live long enough to rat."

"You know as well as I do that fact is irrelevant."

"Whatever." He pulled his machina from a holster at his side and twirled it around his finger. "So she's really going to be there?"

Sig pointed to an aquamarine sphere resting on the armrest of the captain's chair. "According to the intelligence we were given, yes. Lady Yuna will be on the island for another few hours. I do not think you will need that," he added, with a gesture at the spinning pistol.

Higa grinned and stroked the control panel again. "Sluggish or not, this thing's got some serious teeth."

"Indeed."

"I checked the stores before we left, _syda_ – this bucket's carryin' enough ammo to level that island. There's no way she's walking away from this one."

"Despite her remarkable propensity for survival, I must agree with you. It would be quite impossible for Lady Yuna to be in large enough pieces to place into a grave after the attack."

Higa laughed. "Music to my ears, _syda._" He looked at the three-dimensional map rotating above the controls, tapped the image of a small island, and then sank back into his seat. He swung his legs onto the console. "Gonna be a good show. Kick my ass out the seat at five 'til, _syda_. This is one party I don't wanna miss."

* * *

Yuna pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed.

"Yuna, how long have you been out here?"

She turned around, a tired smile on her face. "A couple of hours. I think they're almost done down there, but I don't want to intrude."

Lulu sat down beside her friend. In the jungle below, a number of figures in gray uniforms sat around a pair of shirtless men. The first man lashed out with a flashing knife, only to be flipped around and slammed onto his back by the second. The sounds of laughter and applause echoed up to where Lulu and Yuna sat. "Felix and Wedge seem to be enjoying themselves."

Yuna nodded. "He's not holding back like he did with me," she observed. "I hope nobody gets hurt. Did they take any potions with them?"

"Not that I know of."

"Felix stopped by the village for some gauze the other day." Yuna frowned. "I can't _believe _he uses that for the wounds he gets."

Lulu chuckled. "Those two are positively _insane_."

"I'm sure," Yuna laughed. Her expression became more serious. "The Council met again yesterday."

Lulu frowned. "They didn't call you?"

"They aren't required to, unless a decision is being made or one of mine is being challenged."

"At least they aren't challenging anything you've decided."

"Not yet," Yuna said. "But the potential is definitely there."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't have many friends in the Council, Lulu. Maester Getta of Besaid will stand by me, of course, but Maester Nayla is pushing hard for action against the Al-Bhed."

"Still?"

Yuna brushed her hair out of her eyes. "The Council already has a grudge against the Al-Bhed," she said. "This just gives them more leverage." She looked up at Lulu, an expression of genuine worry on her face. "Lulu, I'm on very thin ice right now."

Lulu wrapped her arm around Yuna. "I'm sure everything will work out, Yuna. You've faced crises worse than this. Besides, you're not alone – Wakka and I are always here for you."

She smiled. "I know." Her eyes wandered away from Lulu, back onto the men wrestling in the jungle below. "I know."

* * *

Felix blew a cloud of smoke into the jungle. "Congrats," he said. "We're done." A ragged cheer went up from the eleven gray-clad men in front of him. Wedge, standing next to Felix, wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth and grinned. Felix lifted his hand. "Shut the fuck up, idiots; _I'm_ not done. Like I said, we're done retraining. You're all certified on handguns and carbines now, as well as close combat. That gives you a leg up on the rest of the Crusaders, but you've got a helluva ways to go. Don't go out there and start acting like _el mas chingon _just yet.

As per your new orders, you will all be issued one assa- one automatic machina, and one semiautomatic sidearm. The sidearm does _not _leave your side under _any _circumstances. I don't care if you're pounding your woman through a mattress; that gun stays within reach."

A few hands raised, and Felix crossed his arms. "I don't remember saying it was question and answer time."

The hands lowered.

He tapped a length of ash onto the grass. "Like I said, you all're set apart now. Wedge and I decided that just _being _bad motherfuckers was too difficult for you, so there's been another uniform change."

Wedge nodded. "The coveralls are standard now."

"But that ain't it," Felix grinned. He reached into a crate at his feet and produced a dark red beret. "Here's the new issue headwear," he said, tossing it into the crowd. Someone – _Biggs, I think – _grabbed it out of the air and put it on. Felix tucked a beret into his vest and slid the crate towards the other Crusaders with his foot.

As the soldiers each retrieved their beret, Wedge and Felix began the long walk back to the village. "God_damn_," Wedge sighed. "Hundred and forty hours of training crammed into a week. Worst. Idea. Ever."

Felix stuck another cigarette in his mouth. "Damn straight," he said. "Got a light?"

"Here." He handed Felix a small matchbook.

"Thanks." Felix puffed a few times to ensure a good light before tossing the spent match into a large lagoon. "Tired?"

Wedge grinned. "You?"

"Fuckin' A."

"Same."

Felix blew a cloud of smoke into the sky. "Can I ask you something?"

"Just did."

"Don't be a prick; I'd hate for you to have an _accident _before we get back. I just wanna know whose stupid-ass ideathese berets were."

Wedge raised an eyebrow. "Mine. What's wrong with berets?"

"Nothing, if you enjoy having the sun glaring in your face and standing out like a pretty maroon bulls-eye. The damn things are good for parade dress, and nothing else."

"What would you have rather had?"

"Nothing."

"See, if you don't have a better idea-"

"That _was _my idea. Standing out in a fight is not smart, especially if the enemy might be low on ammo. That beret looks _mighty _like rank to a sniper."

"Wearing the berets is _required_, Sergeant." Wedge grinned. "Unless you'd rather be _Private _Diesel."

Felix snugged his beret onto his head. "I'll take looking like a tool over scrubbing your shit with my toothbrush anyday," he laughed. "But I'm taking this damn thing off the _instant _I get home."

"Not my bitch. You don't have to wear the coveralls."

"That's right," he said. "_Lieutenant_." _Goddamn, but it feels weird using rank again._ Felix stopped referring to people by rank the instant he signed his papers with Blacktip – hell, he even refused to use military discounts unless it was for cigarettes. His last year of Army service as Staff Sergeant DiMarco – and a subsequent military tribunal - left a bitter taste in his mouth. Blacktip did away with ranks; experience spoke louder than nifty little badges.

Not that he had a shortage of nifty little badges. His old dress jacket and forest green beret held their fair share of sniper bait – a pair of bronze stars and a purple heart came to mind, as well as his jump wings and the Special Forces beret flash – but they hung, disused, in the back of Felix's Chicago closet. His pride in his military achievements disappeared the instant he stood before the tribunal. Felix still couldn't smell starched cotton without memories of that day tying his guts in a knot.

_At least they gave me a 'general discharge', instead of a nifty little red stamp of 'dishonorable' on my jacket(1)._

Wedge flashed another grin and interrupted Felix's reflection. "Looks like we had an audience today," he said, pointing over his shoulder at a wooden bridge spanning a waterfall. On the bridge, Felix could make out the distinct outlines of two women, one of whom appeared stacked like nobody's business.

"The hell's Lulu doing out here?"

He shrugged. "Just wants to watch sweaty guys climb all over each other."

"Perv."

"Lulu?"

Felix kicked a low branch aside and laughed. "You, Lieutenant Sonuvabitch."

Another grin. "Looks like Lulu's got company."

He squinted. "Yuna, too?"

"Yep."

He blew a cloud of smoke at the bridge. "How long they been up there?"

"Yuna's been there for two or three hours now; I don't know when Lulu showed up. Just there to watch us grapple, I guess."

"Just watch _you _get smacked around, you mean."

"Please."

"'Please' smack you around some more?"

"You're a real dickhead sometimes, you know that?"

Felix laughed. "You sound like my ex-wife."

"Better not let Yuna hear that," Wedge chided. "She might get jealous."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Get off it. I watched you make eyes at her in the village the other day."

"She had the gauze I was looking for," Felix protested. "I don't think that counts as 'making eyes'."

"The way you looked at her, I don't think you'd've minded reaching somewhere _other _than for the gauze, sergeant."

Felix shook his head. "You, my friend, have been in the jungle too long."

"_I'm _not the one looking at the High Summoner's rack."

Felix flicked a length of ash onto the ground. _Was I _really _that obvious, or is Wedge just giving me shit? _"No, but you've got a real problem keeping your eyes above Lulu's shoulders."

Wedge shrugged. "Where am I _supposed _to look? Those things take up half my vision. Telling me not to look at 'em is like putting a kid in a candy store and telling him not to drool."

"Not that it's my problem, but I'm sure Wakka would have a few choice words for you, mostly of the four-letter variety."

"Please," Wedge snorted. "You marry a woman like _her_, you _expect _guys to check out her knockers. She's practically gotta lean backwards just to walk anywhere." He paused a moment. "I can't blame you for wanting into Yuna's skirt, though. I'll be damned if those two years didn't mature her like _whoa_. Most chicks would _kill _to have legs like her. You seen 'em?"

Felix fought back the urge to drive his fist through his friend's smiling mouth. "Not yet."

"Damn, you're missing out. She's got a real nice ass now, too. I think I have a sphereshot-"

"_You_ can shut the fuck up now," he snapped.

Wedge laughed. "See? I _knew _you had a thing for her."

* * *

Maester Nayla drummed his fingers on the mahogany table in front of him. A sphere atop its smooth surface seemed dead, devoid of energy. He watched it for a moment, as though contemplating whether or not to pick it up again. A gentle sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced out the window. The glare from the sun made him shut his eyes. It reflected off the innumerable domes lining the skyline, giving Bevelle a glowing appearance.

A knock sounded at his door. "Maester Nayla?"

He turned away from the window and concealed the small sphere within his sleeves. "Please enter, Maester Getta."

The overweight, graying man shuffled through the door. "Forgive me for intruding," he puffed, "but I must inform you that Maester Nade has agreed to reschedule the summit, as per your request."

"Thank you, Getta."

"We shall convene at this time tomorrow."

"Very well. Is that all?"

"Yes." Maester Getta waddled back out of the room. "I will convey your thanks to Maester Getta." The door swung closed, leaving Maester Nayla alone once again.

"The curtain rises," he said, his voice echoing inside the empty room, "on the world's stage."

* * *

He wadded up the gray coveralls and tossed them to the floor in a sweaty, dirty heap. Felix pulled his yellow pants on, then limped over to the bed and grabbed a roll of gauze from a low shelf. He wrapped the gauze around his foot, afflicted with the blister from hell, and tied it off. He took a drink from the sake bottle on the floor and replaced his cigarette between his lips. His maroon beret hung from one of many jars lining the shelves in the village's guest shelter, now the official DiMarco residence. He tapped ash into a shallow dish and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. With retraining over, Felix's schedule was as devoid of activity as his tent. He closed his eyes with a sigh and set his cigarette in the dish. _Maybe I can finally catch up on some-_

The flap of his tent rustled, and a bright light streamed in. "Felix?"

_Christ._ "Yeah, Wakka?"

"You awake?"

"I am now," he growled, covering his eyes with his hand. "Shut the goddamn flap when you leave."

Wakka grinned. "Sorry, Brudda. Just checkin' to make sure you got back alright. Wedge passed out soon's he got in."

"Great." Felix closed his eyes again. "Wake me up if my tent's on fire."

His breathing began to slow.

An unusual sensation, like being hit with air out of the freezer, swept over Felix's body. He opened his eyes, and found himself on a plateau. Spires of orange rock stood high above the rocky ground, piercing the pale fog and creating a jagged skyline. The sky itself appeared ethereal – swirls of yellow, white, and orange orbited alongside wispy clouds. He took a step forward, then another. Felix's footfalls kicked up puffs of orange dust that seemed to hang in midair. The air felt cool against his skin, yet it objected to being breathed. Something hit the ground behind him, and he spun around.

A man in a red robe nodded his head, then pointed at Felix. "–your story."

"What?"

"It's time for you to start writing."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

A woman in a purple hood appeared next to the man. "Don't worry. You can do it."

Then he was falling. Falling down, falling past the rocks, falling through the milky fog. His chest felt hot, his breathing labored. Felix looked down, only to see his body tumbling away out of sight. Trails of blood streamed from his hands, waving from side to side like ribbons in the breeze.

Something brushed his shoulder. A little boy walked – _floated? – _past him. Felix hoped to the God he didn't believe in that he was wrong – that the patterning on the boy's shemagh was just a horrible, horrible coincidence. The boy turned around, to reveal an all-too-familiar bloody crater in place of a face. He lifted a thin, brown finger and leveled it at his gruesome visage. "Carry this," he said, in a singsong voice. "Forever."

A gasp escaped Felix's mouth as the soft scents of lilac and lavender reached him. He'd recognize _that _perfume anywhere. Tracy floated by and turned around, her makeup smeared and running down her face. Alec stood at her side, his face red and streaked with tears. They pointed at Felix, then began to fade away.

He tried to yell, but Yuna's voice drowned him out.

"Felix?" He shot upright, his heart's frantic beating rushing past his ears. A film of cold sweat adhered the sheets to Felix's body. Yuna stood at the entrance to his tent, her hands clasped. "Are you okay?"

Felix let out a shaky breath. _That dream was weird as shit. _"Yeah… I'm fine."

"You sure?"

_Not at all. _"Yeah. Just a weird dream."

Yuna sat down on the bench opposite Felix; the folds of her pale blue kimono stood out against the wood. "Want to talk about it?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. Felix crushed his cigarette out and finished his current bottle of sake. "Need something?"

Yuna smiled and pointed at the beret. "I heard you're a crusader now."

"Honorary."

"Still, that's a pretty big honor."

"Yeah. I'm a regular busy beaver over here." He leaned back against the tent wall and laughed. "I don't think I could avoid combat if I _wanted_."

"'Old habits die hard', right?"

"Try 'persistent callings'. You should know, _Lady _Yuna."

"I thought I was 'Boss' to you."

He grinned. "Pick one."

"I pick 'Yuna'."

"Fair enough." Felix grinned again, then reached for another bottle of sake from the nightstand. He popped the cork out and gulped the liquid down greedily, desperate to erase that dream from his mind and appear unaffected at the same time. Felix clamped his eyes shut, willing the unease away. Another unstable breath escaped his lips, and he shook his head hard. In his profession, disturbing dreams and flashbacks were par for the course. When his _family _starred in them, though, the equation all changed. Divorced or not, he spent four years – two of them with a ring on his finger – with Tracy. What disturbed him most was Alec's presence in the dream. _No parent ever wants to see their kid like that_.

Something soft slid over his hand.

He opened his eyes to find Yuna sitting next to him, his hand held between both of hers. "You're shaking," she said. "Something's wrong."

"That's why I have Mr. Sake."

Yuna smiled. "We all get scared sometimes, Felix. It just means that you're human, too, after all."

"I think I had that figured out." Felix squeezed Yuna's hand. "In a couple of ways."

She blushed.

"Of course_,_" Felix added with a smirk, "I'm not _supposed_ to take any initiative." He leaned closer, close enough for him to feel hot little waves of breath roll on his face. Her nose brushed his, and Yuna's eyes fluttered shut. "_Boss_."

"I think," Yuna murmured, "you've found an exception."

_I hope she shut the flap behind her. _He pressed his mouth against hers and rested his fingers along Yuna's jaw. Her lips were soft, and warm, and slid easily against his. He demanded access into her mouth, which Yuna granted. She grazed his tongue with hers tentatively at first, but the pace quickened as Felix eased her onto her back, his tactical pants now _very _uncomfortable. Yuna's distinct and pleasant taste mingled with that of the sake he just drank. Felix's other hand curled under the sash of Yuna's kimono and began tugging.

She broke away, blushing and wiping her mouth.

As another smirk leapt onto his face, a bright light streamed into the tent.

_Oh._

"Yuna?" Lulu asked, sticking her head through the now-open flap.

_Fuck._

"Y-yes," Yuna replied, sitting up and tugging her kimono straight. "Do you need something?"

Lulu narrowed her eyes. "Right now, to know why the flap was down."

"Damn ties broke," Felix interjected. "Yuna was telling me more about the Council. Boring shit," he added.

She took the proffered line. "You're _impossible,_" Yuna chided, her face still red.

Lulu frowned and stepped into the tent. "Yuna, do you feel okay? Your face is a little red."

"Yes," she answered, quickly. "Just, ah, a little frustrated."

The black mage paused to glare at Felix. "I see. Yuna, there's a group of tourists in the temple. Would you mind talking to them for a moment?"

Yuna bowed. "Of course not! Felix, Lulu."

Once the tent flap swung shut, Lulu crossed her arms and stabbed Felix with optical icicles. "You have five seconds," she seethed. "Start explaining or I start castrating."

Felix stretched his arms and adjusted his position to hide a telltale bulge in his pants. "There are thirteen Councilmen, and-"

_If looks could kill, Lulu would've just strangled me with my own intestines._

"_That's _what Yuna told you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so."

"No?"

Lulu gritted her teeth. "There are _seven Maesters _on the Council."

"I didn't pay attention. Oh no."

"What _were _you paying attention to, then?"

Felix grinned. "Sake," he said. "Want a swig?"

She leaned her face close to his. "If I everfind out you did _anything _to Yuna – if you even _think _about laying a hand on her – I will _feed_ you what you hold most dear."

A twinge of empathetic pain hit Felix between the legs of his now-comfortable pants, and he forced another smirk. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it a _promise_."

_Jesus. _"Gotcha. 'Nothing unprofessional', right?"

"To _hell _with that," Lulu said. "Treat Yuna like _my daughter_." She stormed out of the tent, leaving Felix alone to contemplate if screwing Yuna outweighed the possibility of losing his balls.

He looked inside the bottle's neck, then set it aside. He could still taste Yuna on his tongue, and he wanted to keep that for a little while. His pants started to become uncomfortable again, and he chuckled. _I just kissed my boss. And liked it. _Felix's emotions usually wound up fucking him in the ass at inopportune moments, such as when dealing with a bloodthirsty black mage with her sights set between his legs. _Still… _He pressed the cork back into his bottle of sake and lay back on his bed for some much-deserved sleep, hopefully involving dreams about a certain incarnation of Satan _not _interrupting something important.

* * *

A swift kick sprawled Higa onto the floor. "Wake up," Sig demanded.

"What?"

"It is time." The older man pointed at the island peering in the distance. The low-light display showed land as a white blip amidst a vast sea of dark gray. "Five minutes until we reach firing distance."

Higa leapt back into his chair and flicked row after row of switches on the control panel. "About time, _syda_." He pulled a small viewscreen out of a slot next to his chair and pulled up the firing interface. "What happened to my missiles?"

"I made a stop before waking you up."

"You better've left me some, _syda_."

"Of course."

* * *

Felix's eyes cracked open. _Somebody barbecuing? _He grabbed his pistol, stuffed it into his waistband, and pushed the flap of his tent aside. Lulu, Wakka, and Yuna sat around a fire in the center of the village; the smell radiated from their little camp. Thick clouds obscured the night sky above. Felix made his way over.

"-think it was just thunder, you know?"

"It's not storm season," Yuna said. "Even if it were, Kilika is close enough that _we'd_ be getting rain, too."

"Just a small cloudburst, maybe." Lulu reached forward and spooned a glob of beans onto her plate. "either way, we're all still dry."

Felix sat down on a log next to Yuna.

She smiled and nudged Felix's shoulder. "Hey, look who's up!"

"We saved you some steak, brudda. Just in case you woke up, you know?"

Felix looked up at the full moon overhead. "Jesus, how long was I out?"

Lulu shrugged. "Eight or nine hours, at least."

"Did you sleep well?" Yuna asked, passing a large chunk of dark brown meat to him on a plate.

"Yeah."

Lulu tapped her fork on the edge of her plate. "_Pleasant dreams_?"

"I prefer reality," Felix shot back. _Because dreaming about sex is not the same as having it._

The black mage gave Felix's fly a meaningful glare. "I'm sure you mean the steak."

"Yup."

"Yuna, perhaps after dinner you might actually _give _Felix some facts aabout the Council."

Yuna turned a bright red and muttered her assent.

Wakka raised an eyebrow at Felix, who shrugged. "So, brudda, how did training go?"

"For me, or for the other guys?"

"Both."

"I'm tired as all hell," Felix laughed. "Same for Wedge. The boys did pretty good, considering they've never touched a gu- machina before. If the Crusaders were badasses before, they're badass-er now. Swords might look cool," he added, "but nothing beats reaching out and touching someone."

"What's the deal with the hats?" Wakka continued.

"Wedge wanted something to set the Besaid Crusaders apart. Same reason we all wear the gray coveralls now. Plus, gray shows less dirt, and it's cheaper to replace a gray jumpsuit than a two-piece yellow undersuit."

"You're a _Crusader _now?"

He nodded at Lulu. "Yeah. Honorary, unpaid, and one hundred percent deployable."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What about your contract with Yuna?"

Felix took a bite of his steak. "Don't get your panties in a knot about it," he said.

Yuna threw a hard elbow into Felix's ribs. "The Crusaders haven't been deployed in two years," she explained, "and the Council has agreed against any military action."

* * *

"Thirty seconds to firing distance."

Higa slid his fingers along the screen, and the missile icons on either side of the airship turned red. "We're ready to rock, _syda_."

* * *

"That doesn't mean a thing," Lulu shot back. "They could deploy him for peacekeeping duties, or post him in Luca."

"'Only deployable in case of war," Felix said, grinning, "and I'm stationed in Besaid. So get your panties unknotted already and eat." He looked up. The full moon hung high in the cloudy sky; stars winked at irregular intervals through the wisps. Crickets chirped in the grass. He let out a sigh and took a bite of his steak. _Looks like it's always a nice night in Spira_.

Wakka seemed to have read Felix's mind. "Nice weather lately, ya?"

"Yeah."

"We're s'posed to be in the rainy season now, but there ain't been a raincloud in months. Weird, you know?"

Yuna shrugged. "I like it," she said. "It's peaceful."

"Yes," Lulu said, sipping something from a translucent glass. "It certainly is."

Felix stretched his arms. "Helluva lot nicer than Chicago."

* * *

"Ten seconds."

* * *

"What was the weather like in Chicago, brudda?"

"Windy, rainy, and gray. Cold, too." He flashed a grin. "The opposite of Spira, eh?"

"So it would seem."

* * *

"Five seconds."

* * *

He took another bite of steak. "Who killed it?"

"This?" Wakka asked, pointing at his own slice of meat. "Bought it in Luca, brudda. Farm-raised Chocobo flank. Tastes pretty good, ya?"

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Chocobo? Wouldn't that taste like chi-"

The shockwave punched Felix in the stomach and knocked the wind from his lungs. He pushed himself off the ground, and saw a long trail of explosions tracking through the jungle, away from the village. Fingers of white smoke hung down from the sky. "JESUS CHRIST!" Felix jumped to his feet. He hauled Yuna off her log and shoved her toward the village's exit.

"What's going on?"

"Move! Get the fuck out of the village!" He sprinted into his tent, grabbed his vest, and sprinted back towards the campfire. Lulu and Wakka followed close behind Yuna, Riko in tow. The rest of the village stood outside their tents staring skyward, as though mesmerized by the dissipating white columns. "Get out of here!" Felix shoved through the small crowd and grabbed Yuna's wrist. "This way!"

"The cliffs are that-"

He shook his head hard, and slid the vest over Yuna's slight frame. "Don't bunch up! They'll see it for sure!"

"Who?"

"Whoever the fuck is bombing us!" Felix punched Wakka in the arm as the blitzer passed him. "We gotta get away from the rest of the village before he makes another pass," he explained. "I saw a cave under the waterfall a little ways east. Get inside."

"Diesel!" Wedge yelled. He stood at the exit of the village, a red beret perched on his head, an assault rifle in each hand. "Take one!"

Felix shoved his pistol and Yuna into Wakka's arms. "Take her and Lulu and get under the waterfall," he ordered. "Shoot anyone who comes in."

"Brudda, I-"

"That's an _order_, goddammit!" Felix ran over to Wedge and tore one of the rifles from the Crusader's hands. He worked the bolt, then snapped the safety off. His eyes scanned the night sky. Metal glinted to the north. "Wedge, he's comin' back around! We got anything to hit the bastard with?"

"We've got launchers on the _Liki_!"

Felix nodded. "I'll give you some cover." He pointed his rifle up and fired a long burst. The object in the sky accelerated toward the ground, and white light flickered against the sides of its blunt nose. Geysers of dirt appeared in front of the contractor. He rolled to one side as bullets stitched a path down the village and into the jungle.

The airship screamed over his head and pulled high into the sky; flames from burning tents and foliage glinted on its battered chassis. Felix fired a burst at the skyrocketing craft. He watched his rounds spark against it, and the airship banked to face him. A glinting wheel spun at its rear, ripping through the air and creating a deafening roar. Trees bowed under the downforce, and assorted fragments of flora spiraled up from the jungle. The sense of helplessness from Brazil returned.

He turned and ran down the path. The beach grew in the distance. The rifle felt like a block of lead as Felix's feet pounded down the wooden dock. He vaulted over the low railing, collided with the _Liki_'s boathouse, and rushed to the bow. Wedge stood behind one of the turrets, his fingers hooked around the primitive triggers.

Felix dropped his rifle and swung the other turret skyward. His heart pounded in his ears, and the pain from his blistered foot vanished.

Wedge yelled out. "There! To your right!"

The airship screamed over the water, a v-shaped spray of water extending from under its nose. Felix brought the turret to bear and tightened his fingers on the triggers.

The airship loomed closer, its roar drowning out the ringing in Felix's ears. He squeezed the triggers hard. The turret bucked. A glittering harpoon skimmed over the water. It struck the airship low on the nose, but did not deter the rapidly advancing craft. Its nose began winking again, and the water hissed as bullets knifed through it. Felix released his grip on the turret and dove to one side. The deck shuddered as machine-gun fire chewed it to pieces.

Wedge fired, the reverberation echoing through the wooden deck, and the _Liki _jerked hard to her left. Her hull smashed against the dock with earth shattering force, and Felix felt the ship list. He looked up to see the airship trailing two lengths of rope behind it. From the ropes, a white-painted turret whipped around like a yo-yo. "That didn't do shit! Don't we have anything bigger?"

"All our weapons are edged!"

Felix grabbed his rifle and looked back at Wedge. "Where are the spare harpoons?"

"Maintenance room, by the galley!"

Felix stumbled down the recessed stairway and through the galley door. The rounds from the airship had pierced through the deck and decimated the furnishings, and water bubbled up through the holes. _Shit!_ He clambered over a smashed table and tugged at the brass knob of an unobtrusive, bullet-raked door. It wouldn't budge. Felix stepped back and delivered a wood-splintering kick that tore the door from its hinges. Various odds and ends lay strewn about the perforated space. He tossed the door aside and dug through the debris, searching for anything that looked like a harpoon.

Another explosion rocked the _Liki_, and Felix lost his balance. The doorknob met him halfway, sending a trickle of warmth down the side of his face. A crate from the top shelf landed next to him and cracked open.

A bundle of harpoons glinted in the light of-

Fire lapped at rent beams and furnishings, growing fiercer by the second. Its base spread through the galley, parting where water continued to gurgle through the ruptured hull. Felix felt the heat against his skin. He grabbed the harpoons and fled the burning galley.

Wedge gestured at the sky. "He's coming around again!"

Felix tore the bundle open, and harpoons clattered to the slanting deck. His rifle dropped next to them. He rammed two of the wicked-looking spears into the second turret, and yanked the bolt back. "Last chance," he muttered. "Work this time."

The airship bore down on the floundering ship like a steel shark, nose guns winking. It's fire chewed the boathouse to pieces, shattering glass and splintering wood. Felix jerked the triggers back, and two harpoons spiraled upward. They struck the passing airship in the underbelly, and an unknown liquid sprayed the deck. _Smells like-_

"Wedge, get off the ship!"

"Is that-"

"It's gas!"

"Gas?"

Felix nodded and picked up his rifle. "I think I hit the tank on that thing!"

"Wait, that means-"

"It means that we're roasted if the fire gets up here!"

"Felix, give me your cigarette!"

"_What?"_

Wedge pointed at the cloudy sky. "We can kill this thing! I'm gonna set the bastard on fire!"

"We already are!"

"I mean the airship, shithead!"

He handed his cigarette to Wedge. The other Crusader swabbed his own beret against the deck, then impaled it on a harpoon. He grinned. "Hope this works." Wedge pressed the end of Felix's cigarette to the dripping beret, and flickering orange immediately replaced maroon.

_He's not_. "Are you fucking _insane? _This whole deck is soaked in that shit!"

"Trust me!" Wedge rammed the harpoon into his turret and worked the bolt.

The surf behind the _Liki_ roared, and Felix turned to see the airship bearing down on them again. He could make out the ropes from his own harpoons whipping about its blunt nose. Rounds _thwack_ed against the hull and boathouse. He balanced the craft on his front sight and pinned the trigger back. The muzzle flash from his rifle shrunk Felix's world to a sliver of the _Liki_'s ruined deck; his rifle's staccato flickering destroyed his already weakened night vision.

As the airship drew nearer, and the bolt of his rifle locked back, Felix yelled for Wedge to hurry the fuck up with his idea or get off the ship.

"Gimme a few more seconds!"

Felix gritted his teeth and watched, helpless. The spray of water in front of the airship slowed to a crawl; the droplets seemed to be suspended in midair as the craft creeped over the _Liki_. Wedge swung his turret upward in a painfully sluggish arc and squeezed the trigger. A fiery serpent hissed through the night and dug into the airship's hull. A torrent of flame gushed forth, waving from side to side and bathing the _Liki_ in a brilliant light. The airship careened upward into the clouds, tracing a thick smear of fire and smoke across the sky.

As Wedge shouted in triumph, Felix noticed the splintered boathouse was now ablaze, ignited by a metallic dragon's death throes. The flames raced across the deck towards the two men. He shouted and leapt over the railing. Flames licked at his back. Felix plunged into the warm water and swam frantically for the shore, his eyes burning from the salt. He turned around to see a beret-less Wedge close behind, breathing hard. "Hey!"

"Did… did we get it?"

Wedge nodded. "Sent that bastard… right back home."

"Fuckin' A." Felix dropped to a sitting position against a tree and drew his rifle against his chest. He pulled out the empty magazine and tossed it down the beach. The _Liki _continued to blaze, collapsing inward on herself whenever her own weight became too much to bear in a particular spot. Gasoline floating on the water burned as well, creating a scene more at home in Hell than a tropical island.

"You okay?"

"I need a goddamn smoke." Felix dug into his pocket and produced a dripping pack of cigarettes. Both men burst out laughing.

"Ain't that a bitch?"

"What happened to the one I gave you?"

"It went boom," Wedge cackled. "Goddamn, did you _see _that shot?"

Felix grinned. "Nice, that's for damn sure. I thought we were both gonna get roasted."

"So did I." Wedge reached down and pressed a hand to his ass. He winced. "I think part of me did."

They laughed again.

"Guess the berets're good for something, after all. Not such a bad idea, eh?"

"Bite me."

"Don't get all down, I'll let _you _make the winning shot next time."

"Let's hope there isn't a next time," Felix said. "'Cause if I catch the bastard who got my smokes wet, there's gonna be some serious hell to pay."

"Smokes? We just torched Besaid's only connection to the mainland, watched our village get bombed to hell, and got my ass set on fire, and you're worried about _smokes_?"

Felix laid his rifle across his knees. "See, the difference is that you _like _it when your ass hurts."

"You can go and bone yourself, Sergeant."

He grinned. "Officers first."

* * *

Yuna curled her knees tighter against Felix's vest and leaned against the damp cave wall. Across from her, Lulu held Riko in her lap, whispering in the toddler's ear and reassuring him that everything was _just fine_. Wakka stood at the mouth of the cave, Felix's pistol in hand. Outside the cave, a curtain of water pounded against the rocky path. She ran a hand through her soaking wet hair and let out a shaky sigh.

"You okay, Yuna?"

"I'm fine, Wakka. I just hope Wedge and Felix are alright."

"I'm sure they are."

"Damn right," a voice called from outside the cave. Felix limped through the curtain of white water, followed by Wedge. Both men carried Al-Bhed rifles, and their clothes were torn and dripping. "Everyone here in one piece?"

Yuna sat up. "That's what I should be asking _you_."

He grinned again and slumped to the ground next to Yuna. Water ran down Felix's chest and absorbed into his once-yellow pants, the color now more of a brown. Tattered strips of dirty gauze clung to his right foot, and a circular, bruised cut marked one of his cheekbones. "Wedge got a free ass wax, but I'm good." His bloodshot hazel eyes locked with her own for a moment before Felix looked away.

"Damn," Wedge growled. The Crusader lay on his bare stomach near the cave mouth, his gray coveralls rolled down to his waist. The upper section was draped over his backside and tied around his thighs. "That saltwater stings."

"No shit." Felix looked away from the torrents of water. "You hurt, Yuna?"

She smiled. "No. _You_ need a shower and a potion, though."

"Anyone else?"

"I'm fine, brudda. You want your machina back?"

Felix leaned forward and accepted the pistol. He studied it for a moment, then set it on his lap. The cut on his cheek began to bleed.

"You're hurt," Yuna said. Her fingers brushed the cut, and Felix drew back.

"Hey! That hurts, dammit."

"Sorry!"

"Don't be sorry, be not sticking your fingers in my face." He wiped away the trickles of blood. "Besides, it's only bleeding 'cause I walked through the waterfall. It'll be fine in the morning."

"Let Yuna look at it, brudda – she's a Summoner, healing little cuts like that is nothing."

"It's fine." A dark grin spread across Felix's face. "If you're going to heal something, heal Wedge's-"

"That's e-fucking-nough about that, Diesel. Pardon my language towards my sergeant, Lady Yuna, but my wounds are not serious enough to require your attention."

"Kiss-ass."

Lulu's nose wrinkled. "Why do you two stink like machina fuel?"

* * *

Maester Nayla clicked the small, aquamarine sphere off again. He leaned back in his chair, sighed, and toyed with his silver pendant. Outside the wine-colored curtains, innumerable stars twinkled against a pitch black background. Rotating spheres inset into the marble walls cast the room in a faint blue light that turned his robes the same color. He tapped his foot on the floor. "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori(2). No one dies without a just cause."


	13. The Casting of the Die

Felix stood beneath the waterfall and let it batter his head and shoulders, carrying away the last traces of dirt and gasoline. Lulu insisted that he and Wedge clean themselves, since the cave didn't allow for much air circulation. Apparently, _some _people objected to a pair of smelly soldiers in their general vicinity. Wedge, wanting to avoid being naked in frigid water, B. his way out of the situation by claiming that he needed to check on the other survivors.

He waded away from the waterfall and scratched his shoulder. Yuna and most of the village escaped in one piece, and he managed to not get himself killed in their defense. Felix frowned. Rikku said the Al-Bhed were the only people in Spira with airships: if she told the truth, that meant the Al-Bhed had to be more than just observers - they left their prints all over the attack.

He floated backward, watching clouds glide across the ever-starry night sky. The full moon, hanging low over the treetops, provided enough light to prevent drifting headfirst into a rock. Felix rolled over and swam the remaining distance to the shore, where his freshly-washed boxers waited on a flat rock. Felix added to his frustration by wiping the water from his naked body with his pants, which were also wet. A handful of Gil in one of the pockets jingled and he swore, realizing the unsalvagable state of the rest of his savings. Life would be quite spartan until his next paycheck.

He hurriedly stepped into his still-damp boxers and yanked them up; Felix didn't have the patience to sit around naked waiting for his clothes to dry. On another rock rested his pistol, which he grabbed and stuffed into his waistband on his way back to the cave. He peeked through the mouth of the cave, and cursed again. Wakka and Lulu were both asleep, cuddling in the center of the cave floor, facing the entrance. _Nobody needs sleep but you two, eh? _He grunted and walked back out, machina cradled in his hands. Felix examined the ground around the cave, searching for an appropriate spot to pass out.

"Felix?"

"Yuna?" Felix looked up, wishing once again his pants dried off faster. "Why aren't you asleep?" As she came closer, the moon outlined Yuna's ornate staff, the end of which dragged along behind her. "And where have you been?"

"Wedge asked me to perform a Sending for the village."

Felix sighed. "How many?"

She shook her head. Droplets of water, illuminated by the moonlight, fell from her hair. "Too many. This is a peaceful island, Felix – what does anyone have to gain by attacking it?"

He sat down near the cave entrance. "I don't know," he admitted. He forced his eyes shut and wished for the miraculous appearance of his pants. Sitting around half-naked in the tropics was fine, but that frigid lake reduced more than just his body temperature. "Go inside and get some sleep, Yuna."

"Lulu's a light sleeper," she said, her voice closer. "I don't want to wake her and Wakka up."

"So walk quieter," Felix grunted, his mind no longer content to focus on anything other than the aggravating slowness with which Yuna closed the distance.

"Um, Felix?"

"Yes?"

"Where are the rest of your clothes?" She asked, not-so-subtle playfulness in her voice.

"Wet. Dirty. Torn." Felix shifted his shoulders and sighed. "Why, you never seen a guy in his boxers before?" _And yes, it _was _cold in there._

"Yes, I have!"

"Don't get so defensive," he chuckled. "Just a question. If I was more awake, I'd say you were embarrassed."

"I'm not defensive _or_ embarrassed, I just wish my Guardian would dress more appropriately."

"Sorry. I'm tired, I'm sore, and I'm out of cigarettes. Now is not the time to nitpick my fashion." He clenched his jaw as a loud snore echoed out of the cave. "Christ, is something _dying _in there?"

Yuna giggled. "I used to plug his nose up to get him to stop. Lulu would just laugh, and Ch-" She paused. "And Chappu recorded it on a sphere to show Wakka in the morning."

"I'll have to kill him if he keeps it up," Felix growled, curling his fingers around the grip of his pistol. "I swear to God, I'll make it look like an accident."

"You _could _just wake him up."

"Why don't _you _just wake him up?" Felix asked, the stone behind him biting into his back. He adjusted his position again until some moss provided a cushion for his naked flesh. "Because if you don't, nobody _else _is getting any sleep tonight." He closed his eyes tighter, now desperate to keep his body under control; Yuna's scent and warmth and memories of her taste occupied his mind. Either she had no idea how she was affecting him, or Spira's High Summoner was a monumental tease.

"Wakka needs his rest, too." He heard the fabric of her kimono scrape against the stone as she dropped to the ground next to him. Yuna's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Do you mind if I sleep _here_ instead?"

"It ain't comfortable out here," Felix warned. "Just kick Wakka's ass over and maybe he'll stop that godda-"

Something warm pressed against Felix's side, and he cracked his eyes open. Yuna was curled against him, her arms wrapped around one of his. The faint light from the moon glinted in her eyes, and one shoulder peeked out from the collar of her crooked kimono. He marveled for the briefest of moments at the unusual beauty the light brought into Yuna's eyes. Sky blue and spiraled green, matching _her_, and not each other. They reflected something besides the moon – Felix saw in her eyes the face of a hard man with a hard past; a callus built up from living by the sword.

"It's not _that _uncomfortable," she said, leaning closer. Felix pulled his arm from her grasp and quickly wiped away the hurt on her face by pulling her against him. She let out a little sigh, and her eyes fluttered shut. "Or cold," Yuna muttered, nuzzling her heated face into his neck. Whatever control Felix held over his body's reactions disappeared the instant Yuna touched him, and he adjusted his position in a feeble attempt to disguise the rather noticeable evidence.

"Guess that makes me a liar," he said, his lips brushing her ear.

"Mhmm."

He ran his fingers through her wet hair. "Shame."

Yuna rested a hand on Felix's chest. "Sure is."

"You know," Felix whispered, letting his hand rest on Yuna's bare shoulder, "Lulu's gonna kill me for this."

She intertwined her fingers with his. "She hasn't yet," Yuna giggled, turning her head to look up at Felix. She bit her lip and looked back down, mumbling about needing sleep.

Felix lifted Yuna's chin and met her halfway, again enjoying the feeling of her lips against his own. She hesitated when his tongue entered her mouth, but leaned into the kiss and moaned slightly. He slid his hand into her kimono until he felt even softer skin beneath his fingers. Yuna's breath hitched, and for a moment, she seemed ready to oblige him.

At least, until she pulled away.

"I should get some rest," she said, eyes focused on the ground.

"Yeah," he said, letting Yuna rest her head against his shoulder. Felix's hand settled on his pistol, and he forced his eyes shut for the second time. He tried to no avail to ignore her pitiless cocktease. "Get to sleep, boss."

* * *

"Diesel?"

Something kicked Felix's leg. "Hey, Diesel!"

_Fuck off._

He snarled and cracked an eye open. "Wedge, there better be a damn good reason why you just woke me up."

The smirking Crusader dropped a gray bundle to the ground. "How about putting some clothes on, Sergeant?"

Felix opened both eyes and pondered the consequences of blowing Wedge's smirk into the jungle. He sat upright. "Where's Yuna?" He asked, realizing simultaneously her absence and a attention-grabbing pain between his legs. Oh, the joys of being teased. Felix decided to just grit his teeth and walk a little different for the rest of the day, or at least until Spira gave him enough privacy to relieve that godawful pressure.

"Putting your woman first, I see."

"Putting my _job _first," Felix grunted, the ache now a throbbing pain. "Did you need something, or do you just enjoy waking people up?"

"Both, _Sergeant_."

"Were you going to tell me, or are we playing a guessing game?"

"I'll give you a hint: it starts with 'Lady', and ends with 'Yuna'. It would help if a _Guardian _knew where his _Summoner _was, though."

"You're a dick in the morning."

"You're an idiot all the time. Now stop screwing around, get dressed, and explain to me why you don't know where Lady Yuna is."

He reached forward and grabbed the coveralls. "She was asleep inside, last time I saw her." Felix rubbed his leg and sighed. "Yuna mentioned a Sending earlier – you have her do another one last night?"

"That's a negative." Wedge's smirk broadened. "Did Wakka scare her off with his snoring?"

Felix raised an eyebrow. "_You _heard it?"

"Sergeant, I believe half of Spira heard it. Chocobos mate with less noise."

"What about chocobos?" Yuna stood at the edge of the lake. Mud covered Yuna's bare feet and the hem of her kimono, and lines on her face revealed a long night. She dragged her decorated staff alongside; the elaborate golden disc now served the unceremonious duty of handle.

"You alright?" Felix asked, staggering to his feet.

"I helped the other survivors tend to their wounded," she said.

"Wake me up next time; I'd like to avoid another 'good morning' from Lieutenant Sonuvabitch over here."

She laughed. "I tried, but you growled and told me to shut up."

Wedge crossed his arms. "So caring, so supportive. Truly, an example to Crusaders and Guardians everywhere."

"Bite me, Lieutenant." Felix unrolled his coveralls. He stepped into the legs and zipped the garment up slightly before tying the arms around his waist. "Yuna, what'd you do with my vest?"

"Here you go, brudda," Wakka called out. He tossed the vest to Felix.

He pulled it over his head and stuffed his pistol into his waistband. Felix looked at Wedge again, and noticed the other Crusader wore what looked like a crude webbing system made from heavy black fabric. Small buckles held it closed at his chest, and padded straps sat over both shoulders. Four pouches were attached to the front in a horizontal fashion, and he could discern the rectangular shapes of magazines inside them. "Where'd you get the nylon?"

"The what?"

He pointed. "Web gear."

"Al-Bhed assault vests, ordered before training finished. I figured we'd need some way to carry extra ammo for the carbines, and the Al-Bhed in Luca seemed willing enough to cut us a deal."

"How many we have?"

"Enough to go around the unit. I told Gatta to hold on to yours. The _S.S. Winno _diverted from a sightseeing trip at the Omega Ruins with some supplies."

Yuna spun her ring. "How did they know?"

Wedge shrugged. "Guess someone got a sphere call off. The 'how' doesn't matter, anyway. The point is they have potions, clothes, and sphere comms."

Felix tapped his finger on his pistol. "What about food?"

"Yuna," Lulu said, "didn't the _Liki _have a full galley?"

"I think so. Wedge, Felix, would you mind getting some supplies?"

Wedge scratched the back of his neck. "Eh, you see, Lady Yuna, there's… a, um… a bit of a problem with that idea."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," Felix interjected. "A huge-ass problem, actually. You see, me and Wedge caused a little collateral damage."

"Collateral damage," Lulu echoed. Her crimson eyes narrowed, and her violet lips pressed together. "How _much _collateral damage?"

Wedge bit his lip. "The _Liki_."

Wakka's eyes widened. "How on _Spira _did you manage to destroy the _Liki_, brudda?"

"Fire," Felix said.

"You set the _Liki_ on fire."

"Not _purposely_," Wedge explained. "We managed to wound the airship, and then set the wound on fire."

"_How_?"

Felix pointed to his head. "Lit up my beret and put it on a harpoon. Wedge made a helluva nice shot, too – thought we were dead for a second or two, but we made it off." He looked backward over his shoulder and noted a thin column of black smoke still smoldering near the dock. "Looks like that fire hasn't died yet. I'll be damned."

Yuna leaned to look around Felix and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide.

Wakka gaped.

"I can't _believe_ this," Lulu said, gesturing at the smoke. "You torched our lifeline!"

"Relax." Wedge pointed at the village. "The _Winno _has a galley, too. We can get something to eat there."

* * *

Felix placed a freshly-lit cigarette in his mouth and took a long drag. Inside the _Winno_, he discovered not only the miracle of Spiran coffee but a mechanic with a nicotine addiction almost as bad as his own. Felix bought two packs for a dozen or so Gil, and stored one of them inside the concealed pocket of his soft armor.

The tent he once slept in now lay in tattered pieces; fragments of jars and bottles crunched underfoot as Felix looked for anything useable. He blew a cloud of smoke at the charred, shredded fabric in front of him and sighed. _Guess I need a new place to crash._

Something glinted in the sunlight, and Felix knelt down. His fingers probed through the ash and dirt for a moment before they brushed the corded handle of his combat knife. He pulled at it, only to be surprised by his entire scorched – yet intact – first line emerging from the debris. The knife slid free of its sheath from Felix's tugging, and its honed edge glinted in the sunlight. Felix paused and studied the scratched blade, its blood-soaked history racing through his mind. As the lives his blade cut short flashed before his mind's eye, Felix lifted his eyes to the shattered temple standing watch over cloth-draped, oblong bulges. If personalities and voices could be ascribed to inanimate objects, he knew the knife's calling for blood would drown out all other sounds.

"Diesel!"

He turned, and his rifle clunked against the magazines in his vest. "Yeah?" Felix asked, returning the knife to its sheath and his mind to reality.

"Another one." Wedge crouched and lifted a ragged piece of blue fabric. He winced, and set it back down. "That makes six, counting the woods. Temple's too smashed up to know for sure, but I'd say we lost a good ten or eleven in there."

"At least we managed to get most of the village out before he came back around." Felix drummed his fingers on his rifle's foregrip. "Heard anything from Luca?"

"Nothing you haven't, Sarge."

He pulled the shreds of fabric aside, and felt relieved that he didn't see another body underneath. After a liquid breakfast, Felix and Wedge geared up and helped the survivors onto the beach. _That _took up a solid three hours, and their current search looked like it might take just a little less time. The bodies in the woods, if piles of entrails and limbs still carried such a name, were counted just the same. Felix sighed. "Guess we're done here."

"Yeah." Wedge stood up and took off his beret. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before donning his headwear again and walking towards the jungle. "I think Biggs and the boys are just about done on the beach."

Felix crunched through the foliage behind Wedge, being sure to keep his carbine's muzzle from snagging on any branches. He looked to his left and noticed a pair of Crusaders descending the massive staircase he remembered from his first day on Spira. "Anything?"

A red-beret covered head shook. "Negative, Sergeant. Doesn't look like anyone's been up there in years. A few sword cuts and burns on the rock, but nothing noteworthy. We _did _see some more smoke off to the North, though."

"Right. Head up to the beach and give Biggs' team a hand," Wedge ordered.

"Sir!" The two men saluted, waded into the jungle, and soon disappeared.

Wedge frowned, reached into a vest pocket, and withdrew a small sphere. "Yeah? _Oh, shit!_ We're coming."

"Something up?"

"That was Biggs. Looks like we weren't the only island to get hit."

* * *

The sphere didn't have much recorded on it. A few seconds of static, a brief flurry of words, then more static. That brief flurry, however, held the full attention of the eleven men standing on the beach. Felix pressed the single button again, and the sphere sputtered to life once more.

_"-under attack! Please, send help! Repeat, Kilika-"_

"Biggs, where'd you find this?"

"I found it, Lieutenant." The boy rendered a sharp salute. "Private Jazo, sir. It washed up about two minutes ago on a piece of driftwood." He pointed to the surf. "Sounds like it's from Kilika, sir."

"Think you're right," Wedge said. "Biggs!"

"Sir?"

"Call the _Winno_, and let the captain know we'll be commandeering his ship. Diesel, go get Lady Yuna."

"Ten-four." Felix began hiking up the beach, rifle hung from a simple two-point sling. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and hoped Yuna had the sense not wander _too _far from the occasional branch whipped against his bared arms as Felix fumbled through the undergrowth, having ignored the 'proper' path in favor of speed. A vine wrapped around his ankle and sent him crashing to the dirt. "Asshole," he muttered, sawing through the fibrous tendril.

"What did that vine ever do to you?" Yuna chirped.

He sheathed his knife and looked up. Yuna sat on the edge of the stone staircase, a slight smile on her face. A navy blue skirt and simple gray blouse draped over her gentle curves, the fabric taut across her breasts and hips. She still looked in dire need of sleep, but her voice betrayed it.

"Wedge wants you on the beach, Yuna. We're leaving."

"Did something happen?"

Felix nodded, and kicked himself free of the offending flora. "We think Kilika got hit."

She froze. "Are- do you know that for sure?"

"We found a sphere with a distress call on it." He walked over and sat down next to her, resting his forearms on his carbine. He waggled his cigarette between his fingers. "We're probably gonna be too late anyway, but we're headin' out just to make sure. Wedge wants you to come along," Felix added, standing up. "Need a hand?"

Yuna smiled and accepted his proffered hand, but refused to let go. She laced her fingers between his and looked up at him nervously, biting her lower lip. Felix cupped her chin in his hand and brought his mouth down to hers, enjoying the little _mmph _of content Yuna made as he pulled her to his armored chest. The fact he couldn't feel her body against his frustrated the contractor, but the smooth movements of Yuna's tongue more than made up for it. His hand began to venture south from the small of her back, but Yuna broke away from the kiss and looked at the staircase. She bit her lip again.

"Something wrong?"

"I… Wedge is waiting," she said, starting down the path. For a moment, Felix swore he saw open regret in Yuna's eyes. He watched as she fought her way through the jungle, and wondered what on Spira just happened.

* * *

Higa kicked the copilot's chair over, knocking it into the three-dimensional map projector. Sig raised his gaze from the monochromatic data readout to contemplate his companion's rage. "This is just _beautiful_," Higa shouted, pounding his fist on the control panel. "One lucky shot! One!"

"Calm yourself. There is no use in getting so upset at something that is out of our hands. Regardless of whether or not the Crusaders were able to drive us off, we accomplished our employer's objective, as well as one of our own. This game is almost over. Soon, the other pieces will be put into play."

"Eh?"

"_Vymmah _will be fully operational within the week."

"Sounds like a plan to me, _syda_. Still," Higa added, "I don't like leavin' all that up to them. Too much's got a chance to go wrong."

"Regardless, it will doubtless make our own mission easier." Sig pulled up a three-dimensional map and made a selection. "We can abandon this airship and retrieve _Vymmah _from Baaj while we await payment. _Cryng_ is compromised, but _Vymmah _is still unknown outside Bikanel."

"You keep talkin' about Gil, _syda_, but when're we gettin' it?"

"They told me no more than three days. After that time, we will proceed to our next target."

Higa grinned. "Luca?"

"Luca."

* * *

Maester Nayla stared at his reflection through the cloudy steam and smiled. He reached out and wiped the mirror until his features became clear, and poured a small amount of scented oil into his palm. He worked it through his brown hair, which he then parted and combed away from his face. The steam on the mirror began to dissipate, revealing a long, jagged scar stretching from Nayla's neck to his hip. He narrowed his eyes and ran his finger down the old wound in the mirror, a hint of a snarl appearing on his face. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and turned away. He opened the door; the remaining steam gave way to the onrush of cooler air.

He looked at the sphere on the table and sighed.

A loud knock sounded at the door. "Maester Nayla, are you decent?"

"Yes, Aenna," he responded, slipping into his robes. "Please enter."

The blonde councilman closed the door behind him with a soft _click_. He leaned against it and folded his arms across his chest. Aenna's frown deepened as Nayla moved about the elegant room, the other Maester's footsteps dull against the pale carpet. "Word has arrived from Kilika," Aenna said, his voice clipped. "The port is completely destroyed, and the death toll is rising by the minute."

"How dreadful," Nayla mused, fastening his ornate pendant about his neck.

He stepped forward and narrowed his eyes. "You despicable bastard."

Maester Nayla smiled. "Despicable, you say? By all means, please elaborate."

"Drop the act," he spat.

"My 'act'? I do believe you to be mistaken. If your perception is thus failing, Aenna, perhaps the Council should be concerned with your management of the booming tourism in your district."

"The financial status of Kilika is _not _the topic of discussion here, Nayla!" Aenna jabbed a finger at the other man. "The murder of my people _is_!"

"Such iciness," Maester Nayla said, shaking his head. "I may need to adjust the temperature in here."

"The Maester of Macalania would know much about iciness."

Nayla's eyes flashed. "The Maester of Kilika would do well to avoid letting his personal feelings interfere with his duty."

Maester Aenna leaned closer. "For your sake," he snarled, "I pray your hands are clean of this."

A slammed door and Maester Nayla's chuckle rang out inside the room.

* * *

Felix returned the half-smoked cigarette to his mouth and sat down on a coiled rope. He reached up and adjusted the position of his beret, aligning the simple flash over his left eye. His head lay against the _Winno_'s boathouse. The boat rocked back and forth in a gentle rhythm, and Felix fought against the urge to close his eyes for a few moments of sleep. He drummed his fingers on the receiver of his carbine, still unable to shake the brown-haired Summoner from the forefront of his mind.

"It doesn't look like you're keeping watch to me, Sergeant."

He looked over at his lieutenant, who was leaning on the low railing surrounding the lower deck. "Just takin' a little rest, Wedge." He flicked the cigarette butt into the ocean. "Need somethin'?"

"Nah," Wedge sighed. He looked out towards the stern for a moment before sitting down opposite Felix. "Need a light?"

Felix retrieved a matchbook from his vest. "I'm good," he said, placing a fresh cigarette in his mouth.

"Something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Worried about Kilika?" He asked without looking, then struck the match on his carbine's grip.

"Not just that. There've been too many attacks with too much collateral damage for them to all be done by one little group."

He paused, the match held before his face. "Thought you said the Al-Bhed had their own island." Felix played the stubby flame over the end of his cigarette and tossed the match overboard.

"That's just the thing," Wedge continued. "They've got the muscle for sure, so why are they screwing around like this? We can tell they want Lady Yuna, but they're sloppy. Sloppy," he repeated, "but lethal. It looks like everyone _except _Lady Yuna is dying. Crusaders in the line of duty is one thing, but civilians are a different matter."

"Maybe they've just got a chip on their shoulder. From what I can tell, Spirans don't treat the Al-Bhed all that well. Figure it's only a matter of time before the Al-Bhed start gettin' pissed off. Bustin' heads is a real quick way to get someone's attention. Think they just wanna get on the Council's radar?"

Wedge shook his head. "See, the thing is, Lady Yuna is half Al-Bhed."

"And?"

"Why would they be trying so hard to kill their biggest support? Lady Yuna has tried tirelessly to unify Spira."

"Ain't our business to find out," Felix said, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "We just kick ass and leave the name-taking to the suits. You can try all you want, but you're never gonna get an answer you like. Cogs in a machine, Wedge. Cogs in a machine."

"That's the most pessimistic thing I've ever heard."

Felix sighed. "If you'd seen what I have, Wedge, you wouldn't say that." He could still hear the words in his head: _"Sergeant DiMarco, this board finds the charges against you and your comrades-in-arms to have sufficient evidence as to justify a general discharge from the United States Arm-" _

The sound of Jazo's voice snapped Felix out of his reverie. "Lieutenant?"

Wedge lifted his head. "Yeah?"

"Captain says we're coming up on Kilika, sir, but something isn't right."

"Too slow?"

Jazo shook his beret-covered head. "Take a look at the bow, Sergeant."

Felix stood up. A streak of thick, black smoke rose perpendicular to the taut horizon, reaching almost to the large clouds overhead. The twists and spirals formed by the soft breeze gave it a serpentine appearance. He whistled. "I guess that'd be Kilika," Felix muttered, sending his own cloud of smoke into the air. "Did it get bigger since we left? I think Gatta mentioned more smoke in the distance back at the stairs."

"Either that, or we all need glasses," Wedge said. "Thanks, Jazo."

"Sir!" The Crusader rendered a stiff salute before jogging to the other side of the boathouse.

"Damn kid needs to unclench himself."

Wedge stifled a laugh. "He's a recruit, Diesel. We took him on maybe six weeks ago."

"I couldn't tell," he chuckled. Felix flicked a length of ash into the water.

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Head on up top and take the watch, Diesel. I'll have Jazo take your spot on the rail. Try not to fall asleep this time," Wedge added.

Felix climbed the narrow staircase to the _Winno_'s observation deck and sat down on another coil of rope. The sail over his head blocked much of the sun, but the heat waged a relentless assault against his body. He grunted and wiped a trickle of sweat from his face. Yuna's actions earlier still puzzled the contractor, and he focused his remaining energy on contemplating them as he took a long drag from his cigarette. She pulled away from him, but why? True, Yuna had to be tired, and her home was destroyed, but the possibility remained that she regretted their relationship. He leaned his carbine against the railing. If that was true, and Lulu was right about Yuna being hung up on that Tidus kid, then where did _he _fit?

"Are you busy?" The subject of his pontification asked.

He shook his head and tossed a far-from-finished cigarette into the ocean. "Nah," Felix said, trying to hide his anxiety, "just a little tired. Need something?"

"No," Yuna said, walking to the railing. "Just a little worried."

"About?"

"Kilika. I hope everyone there is okay."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"Yuna," he asked, "what happened today?"

She raised an eyebrow. "When?"

"This morning."

Yuna looked away. "Remember what I told you that stairway led to?"

"'Old memories', right?"

"Yes." She brushed her hair back, and Felix noticed the sweat beading on her temples. Yuna sighed, and her long earring rattled as she leaned forward against the railing. "I… I just don't want to relive some things, you know?"

Felix nodded. "Yeah," he said, standing up. He ambled over to Yuna and rested his hands on her waist. "I know exactly what you mean."

She pushed his hands back and stepped away. Yuna's expression blended hurt with something unidentifiable, filling Felix with the sudden dread he crossed some unspoken, unwritten line. She took another step back. "No," Yuna said, her voice cracked. "You don't." Her footsteps clattered down the stairs and disappeared under the deck.

He dropped back onto the coil of rope. Felix withdrew a fresh cigarette from his vest, struck another match, and lit up. The bitter, acrid smoke traveled down his throat, purging away the raw feeling. Black and white gulls glided near on broad wings, matching the _Winno_'s less-than-ludicrous speed. His fingers drummed on the barrel shroud of the Al-Bhed carbine, and Felix found himself again contemplating what on Spira he did wrong.

* * *

"Looks like we're about a mile out," he grunted. Felix handed the crude binoculars to Wedge. "You seein' what I'm seein'?"

"Yeah," Wedge said. "The port got hit hard – can't even see the silhouettes on the horizon. You can see the logs from all the huts floating out."

He tapped his index finger on his carbine's charging handle and sighed. "We can't get this bucket to go _any_ faster?"

"The _Winno _is built for comfort, not for speed."

"We're not talkin' about chicks." Felix pointed to the growing column of smoke. "If you're so damn anxious to get out there and do some rescuing, find a way to get there faster. Otherwise, there's _really _gonna be nothin' left." He leaned against the peaked bow and took a long drag off his cigarette. "Urgent, my ass. Don't know why we're even bothering."

"Orders from Luca are to 'render medical assistance and general aid as deemed necessary'."

"_If_ there's even anyone still alive."

"Are you _always_ this pessimistic?" Wedge asked with a sigh. "For Yevon's sake, try and have an outlook that doesn't involve widespread death."

Felix rolled his eyes. "It's been a day already, you can't even _see_ the goddamn city anymore, and you're expecting to find someone alive?"

"Kilika is bigger than Besaid," he shot back. "From what I can tell, just the port village got destroyed. If that's the extent of the damage, then we can manage. Before the Eternal Calm, most Kilikans moved from the vulnerable port onto the island, in jungle huts. Better protection, since the port village got slammed all the time by Sin. The port," Wedge added, "is Kilika's most noticeable feature. Thirty-odd people, living entirely on stilted wooden huts."

"Sounds like Thailand. Me an' some boys took leave there a few years back."

"Tie what?"

"Back home. Think the population of Luca living on Besaid."

"Point being, Kilikans are used to aerial attacks. Figure… ten or eleven dead, about that many wounded."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "_That's _your estimate?"

"Yeah, and a generous one, at that." Wedge shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if they've got everything sorted out already."

"Christ, Wedge, take off the pink glasses." He added more ash to the growing pile at his feet. "War is hell. People die."

"War?"

"Yeah. Bombing hell out of two cities tends to be difficult to talk your way out of, no matter how much bureaucratic bullshit you sling. The Al-Bhed or whoever are gonna have a _very _fun time explaining all this."

"What about the Al-Bhed?" Yuna asked. She stood near the rope barriers surrounding the bow, her staff in hand.

"Sergeant Diesel and I were just discussing Al-Bhed gin, Lady Yuna." Wedge bowed.

Felix nodded. "Yeah," he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "I ran out of sake about an hour ago, anyway."

"Drinking on duty? Hardly acceptable behavior, Sergeant. Lieutenant Wedge, I suggest you have a lengthy conversation with your subordinate about proper conduct."

"Yuna," he laughed, "we're kid-"

"Don't speak to me that way," she ordered. "You are a Crusader and one of my Guardians – proper respect is expected of you. Lieutenant, I expect punishment will be meted out?"

Wedge frowned.

Felix clenched his teeth and fists. He crossed his arms across his militaria-laden chest. "Well, _Lady Yuna_," he growled, "shouldn't you be gettin' ready to go heal someone right about now?"

"Sergeant, a High Summoner is always ready," she said. "Your concerns are better directed at the readiness of your men."

"What are you talking about?"

Yuna turned her back to the two Crusaders and began walking away. "The captain says that we make landfall in ten minutes. Please prepare Sergeant Diesel to secure the village and surrounding jungle, Lieutenant. I will have to ask you to accompany me to the temple as security."

Felix stepped past Wedge and followed Yuna downstairs, nearly biting through his cigarette. They stepped inside her room, and he slammed the door behind them. "What the _hell _is wrong with you?" Felix demanded.

Yuna didn't move. "As High Summoner, I order you to leave, Sergeant."

Felix grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. "Don't give me that bullshit. I wanna know why the fuck you busted my balls in front of my men like that!"

Yuna's face destroyed the illusion of impassivity it seemed she so desperately wished to display. She blinked hard. "Please, Felix. Just-"

"Just what? Just sit there and let you cut my goddamn nuts off? Sorry, but I don't appreciate being made to look like a bitch in front of people who should _respect _me, _especially _not by you!" He released his grip, and Yuna dropped to a sitting position on her bed, her face buried in her hands. Felix's voice softened. "Yuna, what did I do? Can you at least _tell _me?"

She looked up. "I can't feel like this again, Felix. Please understand that."

"Fine," he snapped. "If it's distance you want, that's what you just got. I don't have the time or patience for games, Yuna." Felix turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder. "You got what you wished for. Hope you thought this through."

Felix slammed the door behind him and took a deep breath, exhaling loudly as he climbed back into the sunlight. Wedge shot him a questioning look and received only a forced shrug in response. Another puff of smoke issued from Felix's mouth as he took a seat on a nearby barrel.

"Um, Sergeant Diesel?"

"Yeah?" He grunted.

"Why do- what's that for?"

"You never seen a cigarette before, kid?"

"A cigarette?"

Felix took the object in question from between his lips and held it over the deck. "This," he said, already missing the relaxing smoke.

"Ah. Can't say I have."

He returned it to his mouth for another drag, and let his eyes slide shut. "Lucky sonuvabitch."

"Beg pardon, Sergeant?"

"Damn things're bad for your wallet, your health, and your breath. Hard to quit, too."

Jazo's gear clunked against the boathouse. "Mind if I ask why you started?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Just stay as far away from these goddamn things as you possibly can."

"Roger that, Sergeant."

"Hate to interrupt this bonding session," Wedge said, "but we're expecting some company."

Felix cracked one eye open. "Do they have guns?"

"Negative, Sergeant."

The eye closed again. "Don't care."

A swift kick knocked Felix from the barrel and onto the deck. His eyes now very much open, he plucked his cigarette up and returned it to his mouth. "Asshole," he growled.

Wedge's face held no hints of humor. "The Council sent a courier out for Yuna. They want her in Luca for an emergency session _now_."

He pressed his lips together. "You tell her yet?"

"Figured it'd be best if her Guardian let her know, you know?"

Felix let his carbine hang from its sling and edged past his lieutenant. "Yeah," he lied. He descended the short staircase, but paused after closing the door behind him. Another cloud of smoke wafted to the ceiling as Felix pondered the exact way to converse with the same woman who, essentially, told him to fuck off. He sighed and walked to Yuna's door.

Two loud knocks echoed through the hallway.

"Come in," Yuna chirped. When the door swung open, the smile on her face fell. "I-"

He didn't allow her time to finish. "Council's sendin' someone out for you. Get packed," Felix added, trying hard not to notice the curves Yuna's dress clung to, "'cause they'll be here pretty damn soon." The door closed. _ Painless enough._

"Felix."

He winced. "Lady Yuna?"

"Please open the door."

Felix complied, and found himself face to face not with Yuna, but with _High Summoner _Yuna. Her eyes locked with his, and her arms were crossed across her chest. "Yeah?"

"I believe that it is no longer in either of our best interests for you to remain in my… employment." Yuna's expression and voice faltered on the last word. "Due to your newfound commitment to the Crusaders," she continued with renewed composure, "and my frequent travels, it would be quite impossible for you to serve both duties as competently as usual. Hereafter, please consider yourself free of any obligation other than to the Besaid Crusaders."

He felt like someone rammed a spoon through his navel.

Felix nearly shattered the hinges on his way out, leaving before his anger gained a voice.

* * *

On her way across the temporary gangway to the courier ship, Yuna's shoulder brushed his. Regardless of the physical insignificance, Felix once again felt like blunt silverware was entering his body in unintended and damaging ways. The scowl on his face intensified. Hostility didn't seem to help the disposition of the three armored men facing him, who looked like they wanted away from the pissed-off contractor as soon as humanly possible. Yuna's eyes avoided his as she traversed the narrow bridge away from the _Winno_.

An unfamiliar, green-and-purple-clad figure drifted across the bow of the other ship. "Yuna!" The man exclaimed. His hair hung in a long ponytail draped over one shoulder. He reached out for her hand, taking it with irritating gentleness. "It is a relief to see you alive!"

"Thank you," she said, smiling. Her expression became more serious. "Aenna, how bad is it?"

The Maester bit his lip. "The death toll is quite high."

She winced.

He patted her shoulder. "Do not burden yourself with our problems, Yuna. Kilikans are strong. We will see to ourselves." Maester Aenna smiled at the pair of Crusaders on the _Winno._ "Lieutenant Wedge and Sir Felix, correct?"

He gritted his teeth. "_Sergeant _Felix."

"Ah." Maester Aenna's composure faltered. "Sergeant, the fate of Spira is now in your hands."

Wedge put a hand on Felix's shoulder. "Your trust is well placed, Maester Aenna."

"Good. Trust seems to be so easily misplaced nowadays," the Maester said, thinly veiled anger exposed for a moment in his voice. "And now, gentlemen, it is time for us to depart. Yuna, would you allow me to lead you to your quarters?"

She smiled and extended a hand. "Please."

The pair disappeared down a staircase, and the two boats began to pull apart, the bridge already folded up. Wedge turned. "You don't like the Maester, do you?"

"He's a prick," Felix snarled at the horizon. "A grade-A, genuine, cock-sucking _prick_."

Wedge frowned. "Keep that to yourself, Sergeant – that's an _order_. Prick or not, Maester Aenna is a Councilman, and that means you salute and call him _sir_."

"Roger." Felix took a long drag on the cigarette and sent the smoke towards the fast-disappearing courier ship.

"So," Wedge began, "_Felix_, what the hell happened between you and-"

"Fuck off."

"Sergeant, I am asking you a question."

Felix clenched his fist. "Well, _Lieutenant,_" he spat, "I was recently relieved of all duties that might serve as a distraction from my duty to Spira. Anything _else_?"

Wedge grabbed Felix's shoulder and spun him around. "Listen: experience or not, I am your superior officer, and I will _not _be talked down to. If you address me like that in uniform _ever again_, I will relieve you of your _other _duties and ship your smoky ass the fuck home. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?"

"Crystal."

"Crystal, _what_?"

Felix narrowed his eyes, hands in his pockets. "Crystal, _sir_."

Wedge leaned against the wall. "Look," he said, his voice lowered, "I know you've got more experience than me in what's going on now, but I can't let my authority be broken down. It's nothing personal, but around the men, I expect a certain measure of respect from you." He turned and began walking towards the bow. "Don't make me do that again, Diesel."

He took another deep breath, swore loudly, and drove his fist against the wooden wall.

* * *

Yuna hurried along the long corridor, Maester Aenna at her side. "What is this all about?" She asked.

"Maester Nade called an emergency meeting," he breathed. "They sent me to retrieve you as quickly as possible. If we hurry, we won't be too late."

They reached the massive double doors and hauled one open, breathing heavily. The six men seated around the table rose, nodding their heads and issuing greetings of various formality. Maester Aenna fell into his chair, hiding his hands within the folds of his robe. Yuna walked down the length of the chamber, followed by six pairs of eyes.

Maester Nade cleared his throat. "We have a crisis on our hands," he began. "Two cities have been leveled by the Al-Bhed, and Bikanel has _still _made no attempt to resolve our situation diplomatically. During our earlier meetings, the decision not to act against the Al-Bhed was reached. Unfortunately, we no longer have the luxury of a peaceful option. The bombings of Kilika and Besaid are acts of unmasked aggression against Spira, and we must respond in kind in order to protect ourselves. This Council will no longer tolerate indecisiveness. We will reach a decision _now_."

Yuna reached her chair and sat down, crossing her legs. She curled her fingers around the chair's knurled arms. "I have faith in our diplomatic proceedings Maester Nade. As such, I refuse to condone a course of action that will lead us to war."(1)

"'Lead'?" Maester Nayla chuckled. "'_Lead_'? Lady Yuna, the time has passed for _leading _to war. Spira is _at _war. The Council will merely decide the method with which to wage it." He withdrew a small sphere from his robes and set it into the socket before him. A map of Spira appeared above the table. "The Al-Bhed entrepreneur Rin," he said, "has established outposts in these areas." Red dots appeared on various spots of the map, including Bevelle itself. "Bikanel relies on the income drawn from these 'Travel Agencies' to fund the construction of a new Home and support their young economy. If we seize the outposts on the mainland, the economic stranglehold will force Bikanel to choose between negotiations and bleeding herself dry.

"Bevelle, of course, will be where the hammer falls first. The subsequent mobilization of the Besaid and Lucan Crusaders will overwhelm the Al-Bhed present in Luca and along the Mi'ihen Highroad. The Bevelle Crusaders will secure the Calm Lands, while those from Macalania seize the Thunder Plains and establish a garrison in the former Guadosalam. Meanwhile," Maester Nayla continued, "Besaid and Luca will proceed along the Highroad to the Moonflow. Hostilities will be over in a matter of days, with a minimum loss of life."

Yuna stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. "As High Summoner of Spira, I once again forbid any military aggression toward the Al-Bhed."

Maester Nayla shook his head. "Lady Yuna, your naïveté is no longer amusing. Allow me to clarify the position you are now in: you _will_ support our decision, or this Council _will_ remove you from office."

She blanched. "You can't-"

"With all respect, Lady Yuna, we _can_." A grim smile spread across Maester Nayla's face. He rose to his feet, and hid his hands within the sleeves of his robes. "Your heel-dragging has carried on for long enough, and you have wasted more than enough lives with pointless delays and impotent musing. Spira is no longer under your control. I hereby raise a vote of no confidence in Lady Yuna."

"No, you can't, this isn't-" Yuna fell silent as six colored spheres clicked into place. The color drained from her cheeks, and she collapsed into her carved chair. She hid her face behind trembling hands. "Oh, Fayth…"

Maester Nayla rolled his sphere along the table, stopping it with an outstretched hand just before it fell into the spherical recession before him. "As you are fully aware of, Lady Yuna, a vote of no confidence requires unanimous agreement. Leave your petulant inanity behind – this is no place for children. You will agree with our decision – the _right _decision, mind you – or you will be sent to live out the rest of your days on the Isle of Omega. Choose freely."

She looked up. "You too, Maester Aenna?" She asked, her voice tremulous.

Maester Getta pressed his lips together. "I am sorry, Lady Yuna, but Maester Nayla speaks for all of us. Peace is no longer an option. My homeland has been decimated, and I will not sit idly by and allow such a tragedy to befall another city. Surely you understand?"

Yuna's eyes slid closed. "I… yes."

"Lady Yuna, do you agree to the conditions of warfare thus outlined?"

"Y-yes," she sobbed. "Fight your war."

Maester Nayla smiled. "You are quite mistaken, Lady Yuna. As _you _are the one who voted the measure through, this is very much _your _war."

* * *

He slid the stone along the edge of his combat knife with a practiced rhythm, scraping away thin strips of black paint to reveal the bare metal underneath. Every few swipes, he squirted a line of pale blue oil onto the stone. Felix wiped the blade clean with a scrap of cloth, set it down on the table, and reached down for his Al-Bhed carbine. The stamped receiver gave him no hints as to the weapon's disassembly, and he sighed. Felix heard the door to his suite swing open, but didn't look up.

"Diesel?"

"Lieutenant."

"You're not gonna have any luck with that. I think the Al-Bhed made those as disposable weapons," Wedge said, pushing the door open and taking a seat in the wicker chair to his left. "We couldn't find any way to take them apart – at least, not with the tools we had on the _Winno_."

"Great," Felix groaned, laying the 'disposable weapon' on its side. "We're gonna fight a war with cheap-ass toys."

"Not my fault. This is all we confiscated from the attacks on Lady Yuna."

He raised an eyebrow. "_That's _where you got the carbines?"

"Where else?"

"Private purchase"

"With the funding we get? Fat chance."

"I'd take a shitty hotel and decent weapons over this place."

Wedge smirked. "It's easy to get a hotel room by flashing a beret and machina." He scratched his forearm. "I just got our marching orders from the Council."

"And?"

Wedge sighed. "We're moving at first light. The Al-Bhed have an outpost near the Blitz arena; us and the Lucan Crusaders are gonna take it out. The Lucans outnumber us three to one, but still mostly use their swords, so it could get a little messy up close. Diesel," he added, "I don't think the men trust your machina just yet. They've expressed a real reluctance to leave their swords behind."

"Too damn bad." Felix racked the slide of his pistol and dropped the hammer on an empty chamber. "I'm not going in there with some giant meat cleaver – you want your boys to stack bodies, they're takin' the guns."

"If that's what you think it'll take, that's what we'll do. I've seen what _you _can do with machina."

"Right," he grunted, "and _I _trained the damn unit. The carbines'll do just fine." The pistol dropped into its holster. "Did Jazz get that ammo passed out?"

"Six magazines to every Crusader."

Felix squirted some of the oil into his carbine's action and worked the bolt. "Good. How big did you say that outpost was?"

Wedge sighed again. "It isn't even military. Ten or elevn Al-Bhed work there regularly, not counting however many guests are in the rooms."

He scraped mud and assorted debris from the ported barrel shroud with his knife, pausing as he reached a stubborn bit of rust. "They tell you what they meant by 'take it out'?"

"We need to keep collateral damage to a minimum, since we'll be operating inside the city. The Council rep told me they wanted to keep the death toll low as well, for the sake of appearance."

"Figure we can get the Lucans to hold a decent perimeter?"

"Already asked. They want the action, and since it's _their _city we're working in, we can't say no. Looks like it'll be _our _job to hold the perimeter."

Felix picked at the corroded metal again. "Fuck," he muttered, thinking of both the Lucan Crusaders and that goddamn piece of rust that did _not _want to leave.

Wedge rose and adjusted his beret. "Just thought I'd give you the heads up. From the looks of things," he added, "we've still got a little while 'til sunup."

"I'll be out in an hour," Felix said, leaning the carbine against his desk. "Wedge?"

"Yeah?"

He sighed. "I owe you an apology."

"Don't worry about it. Everyone's had a rough day. Just show me a little respect outside this room, and everything's smooth sailing."

"Roger." The door clicked shut, and he lay back on his bed, contemplating the hotel's luxurious décor – the designers forsook functionality in favor of meaningless extravagance. Their decision provided an amusing contrast between gold trim, red velvet, and the combat gear piled on the floor. Felix kicked his boots off and fumbled with the glowing sphere on the nightstand until the stars outside leapt into focus. He sighed. Operation: Mi'ihen II, as the Council dubbed it, marked his second _real _combat deployment in as many months.

Felix DiMarco closed his eyes and lapsed into an uneasy sleep. A bitter smile curled his lips as he felt consciousness fade away.

_Welcome home._

 

 

 

 

_(1) Padme Amidala, Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace  
_


	14. Fatal Chain

Felix slammed a new magazine home and yanked the hot bolt of his carbine back, gritting his teeth as the crosshatched metal dug into his bandaged hand. He pressed his shoulder against the overturned carriage and peeked out. Dozens of muzzle flashes behind makeshift fortifications of shattered concrete bathed the street in an eerie, flickering white light. The crackling of innumerable rounds and the chatter of innumerable weapons echoed off high buildings. Felix squeezed off a long burst through a building's shattered window and ducked back to safety. "Fuck," he snarled, "where are the Lucans?"

Wedge stuck his rifle over the carriage and sprayed a magazine in the general direction of incoming fire. "Pinned down east of here, so long as they tried to run up the right street."

"Soft target, my _ass_." Bits of asphalt sprayed the two men as another series of shots skipped past the carriage. Felix swore. "We're moving. _Now._" He shifted his weight and planted one foot against the carriage's splintered undercarriage. Not twenty meters away, a set of double doors barred entry to a surprisingly intact building overlooking the street. The higher ground would afford a better angle into the outpost. "Cover me."

He took off at the sound of a high-caliber starter's pistol, the bullets snapping past him a deadly applause. Felix gritted his teeth as he crashed through the doors at full speed and lost his footing. He rolled on his shoulder into the center of a room lined with plastic chairs, growling at his misstep. He dashed back to the entranceway, and emptied his magazine at the not-so-distant muzzle flashes. Wedge sailed past him a moment later, holding on to his beret with one hand.

"Goddamn," Wedge panted, "so much for a quick raid!"

"Not done yet," Felix growled. He stuffed the spent magazine back in his vest and retrieved another, working the action as it locked into his carbine. He surveyed the room with a more tactical eye and frowned. A light, citric scent subdued those of masonry dust and burnt gunpowder. Everything appeared nondescript enough, but the distinct lack of damage to the structure nagged at Felix's mind. The munitions-slinging Al-Bhed seemed unconcerned with collateral damage, so why wouldn't they hit _this_ building? "Wedge, you know where we are?"

"Not a clue."

Felix bent and lifted a pamphlet from the floor. He couldn't understand a word of the intricate, looping script. "Hey, you can read Spiran, right?"

Wedge raised an eyebrow.

"Here," Felix said, handing him the paper. "Shit's crazy."

"Diesel." Wedge looked up from the pamphlet. "This isn't Spiran."

"Then wh-"

"That's a language primer. It's Al-Bhed script."

* * *

Yuna frowned, rubbing her eyes. "A problem?"

The courier bowed. "Yes, Lady Yuna. Maester Aenna requested I inform you that there has been a problem with operations in the city."

"A problem in Luca? Do you know what happened?" she asked, sitting forward and turning up the sphere on her nightstand. "Where are we? How long was I asleep?"

The boy pressed his lips together to suppress a small grin. "I'm afraid you slept through most of the day, Lady Yuna." The flash of humor disappeared as quickly as it came. "We are currently en route to Bevelle – Luca is far too dangerous to make landfall, m'lady. I'm afraid that other than several unforeseen difficulties, no one knows what has happened. I will, however, be sure to keep you informed." He rose, stepped back, and bowed again. "If you don't min-"

"No, no, it's okay. I understand how busy you must be. Please, feel free to leave."

"As you wish."

The door closed, and Yuna sighed. She threw the covers back and swung her legs out of bed, rubbing her eyes again and blinking hard. She walked to the porthole and pressed a hand to the glass. A dull glow flickered on the night horizon, its reflection scattered by an uneasy ocean. Yuna's eyes closed, and she withdrew her hand. An unsteady sigh escaped her lips. She opened her eyes once more, then drew the curtains closed.

* * *

"This building must be part of the outpost."

Felix pressed his back to the wall. "Shit," he said, tightening his grip on his carbine. No wonder the Al-Bhed didn't demolish this place! He narrowed his eyes at the door. Did someone hear their entry? Were they being watched? No. They'd both be gut-shot by now. He tightened his vest. If they could keep a low profile until reaching the outpost, the hornet's nest would remain dormant.

Wedge's eyes lit up, as though he read Felix's mind. He pointed at a door at the end of the room, partially hidden by a counter. "We can flank 'em through there."

He nodded and slid along the wall, clambering over the low counter to reach the door. It opened with a yank of the steel knob, and Wedge slipped inside. Felix followed a moment later, sweeping the hallway with his carbine. The corridor stretched on for what seemed like forever, lined with simple wooden doors. He crept forward, eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting. No sound pierced the walls, the heavy silence almost eerie given the destruction outside. _We could blast away at this place for days and not make a scratch – it's a goddamn fortress! _Felix paused before a door near the end of the hallway as he noticed the light shining forth underneath. He could hear a dull thumping through the thick wood. He reached up and gripped the knob, turning it at an almost imperceptible rate. At last the latch slid free, and Felix cracked the door open wide enough to peek inside.

Inside, a lone sphere bathed the room in pale blue. A large, white-sheeted bed flanked by a pair of end tables dominated the space. A burly man was doing his best to drive the bed through the wall, using a well-proportioned blonde as a hammer. Felix had interrupted a couple preoccupied with something important. The man leaned his head back towards Felix, groaned, and quickened his movements. The woman under him, facing the headboard, locked her arms out for support. She arched her back and moaned loudly, clutching at the bed. She grew louder as the man rocked against her, and a low scream slipped out of her throat. Between the banging of the headboard and the woman's moans, Felix could no longer tell if he was in a warzone or a Las Vegas hotel.

He hadn't been laid in so long it felt like a sin. Felix couldn't imagine stooping to the level of purchasing a whore, but god_damn_ if he didn't want to at times. His company until late only exacerbated the problem – a mage smuggling watermelons in her blouse and a Summoner with the tightest ass he'd ever seen hardly made a man want to keep it zipped. Christ, but Yuna had an amazing body. Felix decided some time ago that, yes, he _would _give his left arm to see that body naked. He didn't want to admit it, after what she did to him, but he was unable to force the brown-haired Summoner out of his mind. From behind, he noticed, the woman bent over the bed looked a helluva lot like a blond Yuna. Maybe if he squinted, the man behind her would look like-

Felix closed the door as slowly as he opened it, the moans and knocking still perfectly audible. "Woof woof."

Wedge smirked. "Think he could pound it any harder?"

"Only with a jackhammer," he muttered. "Christ. Let's keep moving – looks like these doors hook up with the next building."

* * *

"I trust your messenger reached her?"

Maester Aenna nodded. "I'm quite afraid Lady Yuna's reaction was impossible to judge, Nayla. It appears your hypothesis was incorrect."

"Interesting." Nayla drummed his fingers on the table. "Or perhaps we attempted to cut with a dull knife. She dismissed the mercenary yesterday – we missed that window."

"And what of our… insurance policy?"

"As reliable as ever, which suffice to say is not at all."

Aenna grimaced. "What of their payment?"

Nayla's lips quirked slightly in reaction. "'Their' payment, Maester Aenna?"

"Yes, Nayla. _Their_. Or do you believe the Council's memory so short?"

He smiled. "Your concern need not be wasted on so trivial a matter. The details of _his _payment have already been worked out." Nayla lifted a hand and toyed with his elaborate pendant. "As for the other two," he said, "there is even less cause for concern. Tools need not be retained past their usefulness."

"And how," Getta asked, sitting forward, "will the three be disposed of?"

Nayla smiled again. "One tool may be used on another – iron sharpens iron, does it not?"

"The force required to destroy one may shatter both, Maester Nayla." Aenna shook his head. "Rather we set one or the other aside than pit them against each other in a fool's contest of strength."

Getta snorted. "You would spill a bucket of nails on the floor. Allow one or the others to perish instead, and we need not fear where we step."

"We ought to fear our footfalls already," Aenna snapped. "Or would you prefer to trample about like an oaf before Lady Yuna collects your head?"

"Your head will fall with mine, Aenna."

Maester Aenna leaped to his feet. "Dare you threaten me?"

Getta rose, his second chin swaying. "The hour grows late, I fear. I take my leave."

"Please," Nayla said. He turned to Aenna once the door closed. "You would do well to hold your temper in check. Getta's threats are as meaningless as Yuna's promises."

"And yet you confide in him!"

"Do I?" he asked, allowing his pendant to fall against his chest. "Or are some pieces in this game merely a different shape?"

"_Game_?" Aenna slammed his fist on the table. "This is no _game_! Kilika is destroyed, and Besaid is no better – scorched cloth and charred logs, the both of them! How many Spirans must die for your _game _to end?"

Nayla's features twisted into a dark grin. "You seemed far less hesitant to bomb Luca, dear Maester. Or was that just a byproduct of your vendetta with Maester Nade?" He paused, as if to study Aenna's seething form. "No, Aenna, it is not over. Our hands are already drenched in blood, and I see no reason to stay them now. Unless, of course, your affections have been swayed to her cause."

"_Cause_?" He spat. "Perhaps you meant to say _crusade_! The people adore her, Nayla, and even greater after our interference. This Council stabs itself in the foot each time we convene."

"Those are the words of a counter-revolutionary, Aenna."

"I merely remind you of the odds against us."

"Odds don't interest me," Nayla pronounced, leaning back. "And neither does public adoration. All that matters is that power is placed in the right hands. We will commission a memorial statue of the half-breed wench in Bevelle, and the matter will die with her."

"What remains of the Ronso will certainly not be so quick to forsake their idol."

Nayla snorted. "The Ronso are all but extinct; their numbers guarantee submission. Guadosalam's fanatical pacifism has sealed their fate as well. Only the heathen Al-Bhed will support the monarchy – and their defeat is a simple matter of time. Yuna poses the final and most difficult obstacle to the people's rule."

"She bent to the Council's will once before. Do you think she will not again?"

"For all her naivete, Maester Aenna, Yuna possesses a remarkable strength of will. I do not doubt for one moment that she is actively seeking ways to thwart our Outline. No, Aenna, she will not yield again. In fact," he added, "I doubt she ever truly did."

"Ha!" Aenna's harsh laugh echoed inside the cabin. "And perhaps those were merely basilisk tears? She may have undergone a Summoner's journey, but I need not remind you the _considerable_ entourage it took for her to do so. Yuna is a meaningless anachronism with the spinal fortitude of a flan. Without support, she is a twig before a landslide."

"Your contempt is amusing in its blindness."

"You mock me?"

"No," Nayla said, "but we _would_ be wise to mind our steps, as you perhaps insincerely suggested. Yuna may be young and naïve, but I expect there remains a great multitude who would think nothing of sacrificing themselves for their perceived heroine."

"You expect an uprising, then?"

"It is unlikely, provided we keep the cloak over our daggers. Spira has the collective intellect of a chocobo herd, and an identical mentality. The prospect of a pure, liberated future will be irresistible given the alternative of an Al-Bhed-controlled monarchy. Misguided dissenters will meet the same fate as their crossbred ruler. Free of Al-Bhed influence and without the prospect of another sovereign, Spira will be able to breathe freely once again. The stench of absolutism will have been purged from her nostrils, replaced with the aroma of freedom."

"For that sacred cause," Aenna muttered, "Yuna must die. The Outline in its simplest terms."

"Indeed."

Aenna stood and smoothed out the pleats of his robe. "Getta was quite right – it is late indeed. I will show myself out."

"By all means, Maester Aenna. May the Fayth aid in Kilika's reconstruction."

His mouth twitched as though holding back a torrent of words, and then Aenna opened the door. With a fluttering of purple and green cloth, Maester Aenna disappeared into the temple's winding corridors. Nayla continued to toy with his necklace, turning the great, silver-encased glyph over between his fingers. "Yes," he muttered, lifting the pendant to his lips. "A great many tools will be discarded soon. Would-be puppeteers make for superb marionettes." He smiled and withdrew an aquamarine sphere from the folds of his robes. It buzzed in his hand.

"I trust the meeting went well, Nayla?"

"As much as could be expected," he murmured. "Aenna and Getta are wholly invested in our charade, both financially and emotionally. There is no recourse for them but to press forward."

"Good. Their support will be instrumental."

"Indeed. Though there will be little need for them once our expedition to the South returns to Bevelle."

Nayla smiled again. "Of that matter, the Council remains blissfully unaware."

The sphere's static came close to drowning out a subtle chuckle. "As does Spira, Maester Nayla. As does Spira."

* * *

Higa slammed his fist against the control panel and swore. "Are you _kidding _me?"

"No." Sig drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair and leaned back, closing his swirled green eyes. "We are to hold our fire and allow Bikanel's ground forces to push the Spirans out of Luca. Armored units from the Thunder Plains are inbound as we speak, and airships are shuttling reinforcements to our brothers on the Highroad."

"Armor, _syda_?"

He nodded. "_Tehku-_class tanks, from Home. A small number was stationed on the Plains for lightning studies – the Spirans neglected this when they began their aggressions."

"Gonna be a fuckin' great show," Higa said, grinning. "Figure about a week."

"You overestimate the Crusaders. One more day of battle will be enough to cause a rout, with or without armor."

* * *

Rather than immediately link up with the adjoining building, the corridor led the two men through an elaborate labyrinth of wide, door-lined passages. Felix clenched the grip of his knife and crept forward on the outside edges of his feet; his left shoulder skimmed along the wall. The slightest noises sent adrenaline streaking through his body. He studied the doors as they passed. A plaque mounted beside each bore an Al-Bhed inscription. The inscription appeared to be numeric, but the symbols' intricacy and the dim light prevented accurate interpretation.

Felix stopped on one side of yet another hallway and listened, straining his ears to pick up the faintest sounds of movement. He heard nothing other than the rustling of Wedge's equipment. He tightened the sling of his carbine and crept forward again. Felix poured all his concentration into controlling his breathing – his pounding heartbeat would not be silenced. As he approached a junction, a dull murmur reached his ears.

He glanced around the corner and spied a small knot of figures in khaki clothing standing before a large, garage-style door. A bright light over the door illuminated six men in full combat gear. Wicked-looking rifles hung across their chests, and high collars or masks of some sort concealed the lower half of their faces. The men seemed oddly preoccupied with maintaining a low profile – they spoke in only low voices and gestures. Gestures, Felix noticed, directed at the steel portal behind them. He forced his breathing to slow back down, and blinked hard. Any movement out of the hallway would result in a full-on firefight. _Shit._

Wedge tapped his shoulder. "What's up?"

Felix edged away from the corner, sheathed his knife, and wiped the sweat from his hands. "Five of 'em," he whispered. "All kitted up."

"Any way around?"

He shook his head.

"Try this," Wedge said, slipping a spent magazine from his vest.

Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Toss it down the hallway when they aren't looking, as a distraction."

"You're crazy."

"I saw it on a sphere once."

"No."

"If you don't, then _I _will." Wedge leaned forward and cocked his arm back.

As he reached to block the other man's arm, Felix realized what his heart tasted like.

The magazine clattered to the floor in front of Wedge, bringing the Al-Bhed conversation to a sudden halt.

He scrambled to loosen his carbine's sling and bring the weapon to bear. Felix could hear footfalls ambling up the corridor, somehow amplified over the blood rushing by his ears. The canvas band slackened. He flicked the selector down and pressed the gun into his shoulder. The footfalls sounded closer, now.

Felix whipped around the corner and squeezed the trigger; his carbine shattered the uneasy silence. His rounds walked up one man's chest and blew his jaw against the wall. The remaining Al-Bhed scrabbled to un-sling their rifles. A burst from Wedge sliced through their ranks and dropped two men. The last soldiers managed to lift their weapons before a set of double-taps tore through their lungs.

The last shot reverberated through the hallway before giving way to deafening silence.

Felix sprinted to the door and glanced at the gore-spattered keypad. A crimson LED winked at him as he punched in a random combination of keys to no effect. He raised his carbine again and smashed the butt against the device, sending a brief shower of sparks to the floor. A loud hummingsounded inside the wall, and the door began to slide upwards. Wedge seized its edge and shoved hard, forcing the mechanism beyond its limits. Felix darted through the opening and into the space beyond.

Underneath a low ceiling crisscrossed by girders, a squat machina sat idle. A pair of "mini" guns flanked a large-bore cannon in a flat-topped turret. Even in Spira, there was nothing at all_ mini _about them. What looked like thick, black, horizontal screws held the tank low to the ground.

Felix shivered. "Jesus H. Christ," he breathed, stepping into the garage. His footsteps echoed inside the space. Racks of overhead lights shone down on the tank's sterile gray plating, casting spidery shadows on the floor. Weapons, tools, and machine parts lay in various states of disassembly on a number of tables throughout the garage. He edged forward, finger tap-tapping on his carbine's trigger guard. A familiar and _very_ uncomfortable feeling of being watched gripped Felix as he moved towards the tank.

Wedge whistled. "Holy mother of Yevon, how did they get _this _in here?"

"God_damn_, but the Al-Bhed know how to kill shit in style."

A loud _clang_ echoed inside the expansive garage.

The machina shuddered slightly.

Wedge stepped back. "No fucking way," he breathed.

Just as Felix turned towards his comrade, the machina's turret sprang to life. It tracked upward as the twin miniguns began to spin. He sprinted away from the door for an engine block suspended by a chain. The first shots dampened his hearing, but he felt the air itself shake as round after round spewed from whirling barrels. Felix dove behind the block and looked frantically for a way out.

At the end of a long table rested a tube with an octagonal bulge at one end. He gathered his feet under him and prayed to God it was some form of RPG. The dull pounding of his heart drowned out the miniguns' evil buzzing as Felix launched himself towards the table, arm's outstretched. He could almost feel a crosshair just behind him. Felix let his momentum carry him over the table and behind a thick pillar, launcher clutched in his hands.

He struggled with the alien weapon for a moment, cursing as he fumbled at what seemed to be safety features. Felix took a deep breath and hefted the launcher over his shoulder. _Hail Mary, full of grace._ He dropped to one knee, leaned out, and depressed a small button.

The rocket hissed through the air and toward the tank. It caught the edge of an armor plate and careened off, detonating against the top of the far wall. The explosion felt like a freight train to the ribs. Felix watched as a support girder bent, then collapsed atop the machina. Bits of rubble rained down from a hole in the roof, framed by twisted rebar and jagged concrete. He dropped the useless weapon and sprinted for his life.

A red-capped figure leapt onto the girder ahead of him as Felix seized the first rung. He and Wedge scrambled along the twisted steel beams, drawing closer to the open air. Wedge reached the opening first, and Felix reached for his outstretched hand as the world began to fall. He felt gravity clutch at his body as the girder pitched down. Only a sudden effort by Wedge prevented an equally sudden drop. Felix latched onto the Crusader's arm for support as he fumbled for a handhold on the crumbling concrete. His fingers found purchase, and he clambered free.

Around them, a battle for the streets of Luca continued to rage. "Where are we?"

"Downtown," Wedge screamed. "The stadium should be just ahead!"

_Guess his hearing's shot. _Felix nodded and crouched behind the nearest cover – an upturned planter. He patted himself down and determined that yes, his body was intact. He reached for his carbine, but felt only air. "For fuck's sake," he breathed. The light from burning buildings glinted off his knife as he pulled it free. Until Felix could get his hands on something else, the blade would have to do.

Wedge shook his shoulder. "We need to link up with the Lucans!"

"Lead the way."

* * *

Yuna drew her knees up to her chest in a fetal position, pajamas clinging to sweat-soaked skin. Her trembling hands held a large pillow over her head. She flinched. With a sudden start, Yuna sat upright and looked frantically about the room. Her body relaxed with an equal suddenness, and she sank back onto her bed. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Dream," she whispered. "Just a dream."

The door opened. "Is something wrong?"

She looked up to meet the page's worried expression. "No," she said.

"As you will, Lady Yuna."

Yuna bit her lip. "Page?"

He turned again. "Yes, Lady Yuna?"

"Any word from the mainland?"

"The last transmission from the Lucans reported intense Al-Bhed resistance inside the city, with no progress being made."

Her body tensed.

"That transmission was received seven hours ago – well after the assault began. No sphere calls have left the city since then, Spiran or otherwise."

"_Seven hours,_" Yuna whispered. "Yevon help them."

"Will that be all?"

Yuna nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

Brightly colored bits of plastic littered what must have once been a schoolyard. The fragmented playthings appeared to be fleeing from a blackened crater in the concrete walkway, a vain attempt to escape their demise. A pile of grotesque, twisted shapes lay against a wrought-iron gate; outstretched hands and arms seemed to claw at an unseen enemy. The dark purple of congealed blood clung to holes in their burnished armor and blue uniforms. The familiar mask of Death stared forth from glazed-over eyes. A fence of ornate, hooked blades thrust in the ground bore silent witness to their owners' fate – no two blades were alike, graceful curves and filigree perhaps reflecting achievements or tastes.

Felix released a sigh. Of all the fuckups in the world, this op _had _to make the top ten. The failed attack at dawn resulted in a street-by-street battle for downtown Luca that chewed through most of the day, and all of Felix's ammunition as well. He tightened the pouches securing a pair of now-useless magazines and wondered if Wedge was finished negotiating with the Lucan colonel yet. If Felix had _his_ way, the negotiations would consist of a plastic bag, some duct tape, and a bucket of lukewarm water.

Wedge emerged from the school, shaking his head. "I enjoyed that."

"Colonel Dickweed still refusing to budge?"

"The man moves like a pregnant shoopuf."

"Shoopuf?"

"Honey flowing up Mount Gagazet, basically."

Felix nodded, not wanting to waste much energy on figuring out what in the _fuck _a shoopuf was, much less imagining a pregnant representative of the species. "Where are the rest of us?"

"Still pinned down behind the stadium, from their last transmission."

"Casualties?"

"No idea. Could be complete, could be none."

He rested his head against the wall behind him. "Supplies?"

"Enough to make it 'till morning, provided they don't shoot and bandage rocks."

Felix scratched his nose. "Did the Colonel apologize?"

Wedge raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For royally screwing the pooch," he said, shaking his head. "Half the city's on fire or destroyed. This was _supposed _to be a minor raid – move in, lock the place down, and cart the Al-Bhed out of the city. Lo and behold, rockets start flying as soon as our feet are dry."

"Not our place to bitch," Wedge grunted. "The Lucans are taking full responsibility for the attack, as well as its consequences."

"Don't tell me – tell Crispy over here," Felix said, pointing at a particularly grilled corpse. "Hey man, it's all good – the Lucans will write the letter to mom explaining why her son is a piece of human charcoal." Felix stepped away from the wall and spat. "What's the word on _their_ boys?"

"They'll hold," he said, a few steps ahead of Felix, "at least until reinforcements from Mi'ihen can be dispatched."

"Mi'ihen?"

Wedge pointed a finger towards the stadium. Its jagged dome was clearly visible against the battle-lit, starless sky. "Spira's main road. The Crusaders have an outpost at the north end."

Felix groaned. "Luca'll be ash tomorrow, Lieutenant. We've gotta break the Al-Bhed's back before they break ours."

"Good luck, since the Lucan sphere network took a salvo when we showed up."

The two men stopped at the gate of the schoolyard. "This stinks."

"No shit."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean something doesn't smell right. Those fuckers were on the rooftops before we got here."

Wedge nodded. "The Al-Bhed have always been a little obsessed with their security – I'm not surprised they were able to react that fast."

"That's not what I meant. You said the sphere tower took a hit when we showed up – how the _fuck _would they manage that timing without knowing what was coming? The Al-Bhed _knew_ that wasn't a normal supply wagon, they _knew _where to place their damn rockets, and they sure as hell _knew _how to cut our tendons. This isn't some half-ass militia defense, 'cause God knows I've dealt with enough of those in my life. No, someone here was pointing fingers and making lists. They were _waiting _for us, Wedge."

"You saying you think they got tipped off? Not possible. Even _if _they could tell the ship we rode in on wasn't a real fishing vessel, they had no reason to suspect a single chocobo carriage held a strike team. It's just the result of paranoia, I'm telling you."

"Maybe one of the Lucans let it slip before the raid."

Wedge sighed. "Doesn't matter what happened. Bottom line is the Al-Bhed still control most of the city, and we can't allow them to spread any farther. With our communication severed, there's no way in hell we're getting reinforcements."

"Shit sandwich," he chuckled. "We're not gettin' those Al-Bhed outta the Travel Agency – you know that, right? Place is a fuckin' solid block of reinforced concrete."

Wedge grunted.

"And we can't push them into a corner, since we have no comms, no ammo, and orders from a Colonel with testicular deficiencies." Felix paused. "Wedge, the spheres went down when the station got hit?"

"Yeah."

"So spheres need a station?"

"You're two for two."

"Where is it?"

"Behind the Sphere Theater, which-"

"Is near the stadium, just like everything else."

"Luca was planned around the stadium," Wedge said. "The docks are laid out like spokes on a wheel, and the city itself expands from one spoke. Even the city is in a circle, constructed around a fountain in the center – a courtyard that has a direct path back to the stadium. Basically, no matter what route you take in Luca, you end up where you wanted to go. Or where you started."

"So where's the station?"

Wedge chuckled. "The _one_ place in this Yevon-damned city you _can't_ get to from here. There's a route from the fountain, if I'm not mistaken, but to get _there, _we have to go through a certain building that's crawling with Al-Bhed. Namely, the outpost we showed up to sack, and that we may or may not have just climbed out of."

"Sounds like fun." Felix turned around.

"Hey, where are-"

"We can't get that tower up and running by ourselves. The Lucans have a sphere tech, right?"

"They should, but-"

He grinned at the demolished street. "Let's go get him, then."

* * *

Jazo worked the bolt of the Al-Bhed rifle and ejected a shell, sending it to the pavement beside his seated form. His breathing stopped as he slid the bolt forward again. He pivoted the rifle on the windowsill, paused a moment, then squeezed the trigger. The massive report supplanted the sounds of battle for a moment. Jazo winced, wiped a trickle of blood from a crescent-shaped bruise under his eye, and swore.

"You're a damn natural, Private."

He opened another pouch on the bandoleer draped across his legs; his fingers struggled with the fastener for the briefest of moments. "Thank you, sir."

Gatta laughed. "Between you and Biggs, the Al-Bhed haven't moved a yard."

Jazo ejected another shell. "Any word from the Lieutenant?"

"None," he said. "Sounds like we're on our own for now. How are we for ammo?"

"Good, sir. That sentry had plenty for his rifle."

"His friends did too," Biggs called out, climbing up the battered staircase. He stopped to steady a pair of bandoleers looped over his shoulders. "Found some more mags downstairs, in case shit starts flying. Damn guns chew through these things like they're going out of style."

"How generous of the Al-Bhed to loan us their supplies."

Jazo let out a ragged sigh and chambered a round. "Yes, sir." He fired again, and with a shaking hand, wiped another trickle of blood from the ever-worsening bruise below his eye.

Biggs grunted as he sat down beside what could have been a couch at one time. He draped the bandoleers over a nearby concrete fragment, set his carbine beside them, and undid the knot on one of his boots.

"Kid's over his fit, then?" Gatta knelt beside him, carbine slung over one shoulder.

"Seems like it," Biggs muttered. "Yevon knows we'd both be dead if he kept freezing up. Guess he just had to pop a few heads."

"Can't think of a better remedy for fear. Can you?"

Biggs grinned and re-tied his boot. "No, sir. Let's just hope that shaking goes away before we _really _needsome cover fire."

* * *

Battling the urge to drive his head through the nearest concrete surface, he stalked out of the Lucan headquarters and through the schoolyard once more. Felix DiMarco hated a number of things – reporters, his ex-wife, laziness – but _nothing_ topped his loathing of stupidity. He swore and kicked a chunk of melted plastic into the wall. It seemed like everyone with rank would rather watch Luca burn to the ground than risk a few lives to take the comm station. Felix yearned desperately for a cigarette and a beer, or at least free rein to start smashing some teeth.

Wedge stepped away from the rows of swords and bodies with an expression of amusement. "It didn't work, did it."

"Hope he gets his dick caught in a-"

"Careful."

Felix grunted. "So while I was getting cockblocked, did you accomplish anything?"

Wedge produced a handgun from his thigh pocket and held it out. "Take it," he said.

Felix accepted the proffered weapon. Its blued finish and rosewood grips seemed more at home in a bedside table or underwear drawer than in the middle of an urban battlefield. Beggars couldn't be choosers, though, no matter how much he missed his Kimber. "Got any more mags?"

"None."

"God_damn_ it," he growled. "Does nobody in this fucking city have ammo?"

"No," Wedge snapped, "since we're the only Crusader unit using machina."

"We're the only _smart _unit, then."

"We still kicked some ass."

"Not gonna be doing much ass kicking if we can't get shit done." He toyed with the pistol's hammer. "And the Lucans are proving about as useful as a set of balls growing out of my ear."

"'If at first you don't succeed, hit it with flare.'"

"As much as I'd _like _to reduce this shithole to some ash and embers, that ain't gonna fly." Felix tucked the pistol into a pouch on his vest. "I think it's time I paid a visit to a certain sphere techie."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Special Forces 101: 'If at first you don't succeed, break the game.'"

* * *

He strode to the end of the catwalk, high above the war-torn streets below. The buffeting wind seemed to have no effect on his robed form as the man lowered his head behind a high, gray collar. One hand grazed a ceramic jug hanging at his side, suspended by a cord of painted beads. His other arm rested inside his crimson robe; its vacant sleeve flapped against his armored chest. The man reached upward and removed a pair of dark sunglasses. A single russet eye, its counterpart closed by a vertical scar, focused on an indeterminable spot beneath the tower.

"Hmph."

With another gust of wind, he disappeared.


	15. Writ in Blood

Wess stood in awe before the alien device. It dominated the small space within the ruins, appearing to warp the light and space around it. He shivered. His touch against the pitted surface touch left a mottled, oblong reflection peering through the grimy dust. Wess coughed into his hand and wiped orange-gray saliva onto his pants.

"So that's the prize?"

He turned to face his companion. "Seems like it. Did you get our skiff repaired?"

Jaste nodded, his blond curls waving. "It'll make it back to Bevelle, but comms are still down." He stepped down into the chamber and rapped his knuckles against the device. "Doesn't look like much."

"Sure doesn't," Wess admitted. "They said it was some kind of transport. Can't see why anyone cares this much about an _airship_. The Al-Bhed build more than enough of the damn things, why can't we just lift one from Bikanel after we torch the place?"

"You know the Council," he said, wiping more of the dust from the metal skin. Jaste picked at one of many spots of rust with a dirt-caked fingernail. "Mountains out of molehills."

"Yeah, but molehills usually aren't hidden in a temple at the ass end of Spira."

"And usually aren't home to a couple giant squid," Jaste added, with a meaningful glance at the circular abrasions down Wess's arm.

"Nobody warned us about the fiends in the ruins. If we didn't have the Crusaders with us, that squid would've taken a lot more than Vance's legs."

"Good luck convincing Bevelle of that – it's _their _money on the line out here."

"Like I care." Wess paused a moment. "Doesn't look like there's any way to open it from here, if the thing can even fly at all."

"Waste of time and money."

He sighed. "No use staying down here any longer – we need a way to let Bevelle know we found what they're looking for. Call topside and get the lift down here."

* * *

Nayla blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. A lifeless, aquamarine sphere sat atop a sheaf of papers on the desk before him. The soft patter of raindrops on windowpanes provided the only sound in the small room, aside from the Maester's occasional cough. A faint wedge of light crawled out from under the door and left thin shadows along the lush carpeting. A light touch activated the sphere, projecting a two-dimensional block of text into the chill air. The image scrolled upward, each word flickering as Spiran print replaced Al-Bhed script. Nayla scanned the translated lines without blinking, his eyes flashing across the suspended pages. He spun a small nub on the sphere's casing, and the hologram expanded to display a second page of translating text.

"Fascinating." Nayla withdrew a sheet from under the sphere and studied it for a moment. He tapped the nub, and the text disappeared.A long sigh escaped Nayla's lips. He ran his fingers along the lines of his medallion. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. "How fascinating."

* * *

Wedge set his glass down on the table. "So you're the man to see," he said.

"Yep." The Lucan sphere technician took a shallow pull from a glass. The patch on his vest read 'Tel', and the highlights in his hair read 'douchebag'. "I'm the best damn tech this city's ever seen, and for the right price, I'm yours."

Felix had seen the type before: in the rear with the beer and the gear, typically playing soldier with local women over some cheap vino. Pogues like Tel could be a good source of hard-to-find shit, such as porn whilst stranded in the Middle East, but the cocktail-gulping Guido across the table didn't seem like the type to appreciate a pair of tits, unless they belonged to a trucker named Hank.

"Shouldn't you be helping us as part of your, you know, _duty_?"

"Shouldn't _you _have some sort of official clearance? Last I checked, the Crusaders frown on lone dingoes. Wonder how your C.O. would take to hearing-"

"I _am _my C.O," Wedge interrupted. "So there's my clearance. What's the price?"

The techie set his glass down and tapped his thumb on the table. "One thousand, three hundred gil. I charge extra for hazard pay," he added, glancing at Wedge's assault gear.

Wedge reached into his pocket and produced a small leather pouch; it clinked when he dropped it onto the table. "There's fifteen hundred – hazard pay's included."

"Must be a good life in Besaid, with that kind of pocket change."

Felix clenched his teeth. With the last of his gil sitting on the table, along with much of Wedge's savings, the black vulture of poverty loomed over his head once again. "Who said it was pocket change?"

Tel smirked. "You did, when you took it out of those giant-ass pockets. How's a grunt like you get this kind of cash, anyway?"

Felix leaned forward. "If you wanna keep your kneecaps, you'll stop asking questions."

"You, dear Sergeant, are a man after mine own heart." The Lucan reached for the bag, but Felix pinned his wrist to the table.

"Six hundred up front, and the rest once you're done."

"A man after mine own heart, indeed." Tel withdrew his hand. "But what happens if you get iced before I get the rest of my money? I can't collect from a stiff."

"You're comin' with us if we bite it, so I wouldn't worry too much. Six up front."

Tel grinned, and accepted a measured out quantity of coins from the bag. "My services are at your command, gentlemen. Now, if you would be so kind as to inform me of the reason those services are required?"

"We need an antenna fixed."

"Personal?"

"No." Felix pointed out the window. "The sphere station."

"For fuck's sake." Tel sighed. "I shouldn't have given you the 'Brothers in Arms' discount."

* * *

"There's no need to skulk about in the shadows." Maester Nayla did not turn his head, but switched off the glowing sphere. "Higa is waiting outside, and I doubt he enjoys waiting."

The Al-Bhed stepped out of the darkness near the window and crossed his arms across his chest. "I am afraid I am your only company for the night, Maester Nayla."

"So it would seem. State your business or leave me to my work."

"Your work _is_ my business tonight, Maester Nayla. Our transponder intercepted a signal directed at Bikanel, warning the island of the Spiran offensive."

Nayla let his fingers trail over the edges of his medallion. "I trust it was lost in transit."

"Of course. Along with the flood of other such calls emerging from the city. I do not think it matters, though, whether or not they get through."

"What leads you to this conclusion?"

He turned towards the window and slid it open. "The stage will soon collapse – pray that your hands are not revealed on the marionettes' strings."

"You dare threaten me?"

"Consider this a simple warning, Maester Nayla, from one who knows Highwind. Tread lightly." With that, the Al-Bhed man disappeared out the window, leaving only a fluttering curtain in his wake.

* * *

"Oh," Felix muttered, "for the love of- you're kidding me." He squatted down next to Tel at the foot of a stairway and rested on one knee. A few dozen meters away, halfway down one of the numerous piers radiating from the stadium, a long, thin bridge extended over the dark waters. Yellow flags stood at even intervals down its length. At the far end sat an elegant, swooping structure that seemed like a transplant from the home of one of Tracy's plaid-clad, Pabst-drinking artist friends. It looked like the skull of a gigantic alien bird, with narrow spires stretching up from the rear. "How the hell do we cross?"

He squinted in the relative darkness, the only illumination coming from flames reflected in the lapping surf and the glow from the stadium's spheres. In the stadium itself and the city beyond, the constant staccato of gunfire was punctuated with an occasional explosion. The din forced the three men to hoist their voices almost _past_ what could be considered yelling.

"Swim, I guess."

Felix glared at Tel. "When I want your input, I'll tell you what it is."

"Lovely. I suppose you have a boat and some oars, then?"

"We've got a former blitzer," Wedge interjected. "Played growing up, tried out for a few pro teams, never quite made it. Swimming that gap isn't a problem."

_A black-water swim? _Felix clenched his teeth. For a moment, the grip of his pistol belonged to a battered M-16; his gear was replaced by a tattered rucksack and a too-big K-pot. "Let's say that swimming is out of the question. Any other suggestions?"

"The bridge _is _right there," Tel shouted, pointing down the pier. "Hasn't moved."

Felix shook his head. "And probably being watched."

Tel rolled his eyes. "We do that 'low profile' thing all the way up that skinny little bridge, then bam!"

"Provided a machine gunner doesn't paint that concrete with our brains, that's a wonderful idea," Wedge quipped.

"Well then, _genius_, what's _yours?_" Tel demanded.

Felix looked out at the station. Floundering beneath the chlorinated surf, waterlogged equipment dragging on his limbs, spots of light piercing a band of black terrycloth... He hoped nobody saw him shiver. "Wedge, how far do you think it is out there?"

He pondered the question. "Couple hundred yards."

"Think we can grab a boat from somewhere?"

Wedge shook his head. "Going in by boat after the Al-Bhed spotted us off the coast yesterday? That's suicide."

"Damn it," he rumbled.

"Felix, either we walk down or we swim down, but we need a decision _now._"

Felix contemplated the pitch-black ocean for a moment. The water swished and gurgled around his head as he flailed. The edge of his helmet smashed his nose. The water near his face felt warm. "_Fuck!_"

Tel smirked. "Don't worry. The fiends here leave after they bite off a leg or two."

Wedge leaned against the low wall, slid a leg out from under him, and launched Tel into the surf. He turned to Felix. "Stick to the side of the bridge, and we'll come up next to the entrance!" The Crusader jammed his beret down the front of his coveralls and leaped headfirst into the black water, reappearing with a full-speed breaststroke a few meters away.

Felix shoved the pistol into the holster strapped to his thigh, tucked his beret into his vest, and spat onto the concrete. He plunged feet-first into the ocean and felt the weight of his clothes fight against his movement.

Fuck.

He kicked and thrashed, struggling to break free from a sand-filled rucksack. His boots punched right through the bottom of the pool and into a hellish nothingness. Was he sinking? Felix kicked harder, the air in his lungs full of needles. Clenched eyelids kept the pool at bay. He felt the caress of fresh air and gasped. Wedge and Tel were gone, somewhere up ahead, or down with whatever gurgling abominations lurked beneath the waves.

Blinking from the salt, Felix started what felt like a brisk sidestroke. He clenched his eyes shut again and closed out the world around him. He wasn't drowning – he was in a moonlit hotel pool back in Israel, along with a battalion of ass-naked IDF poster girls. Felix's next stroke brushed the tips of his fingers against smooth, unyielding stone. Four hands seized the back of his webbing and hauled him onto the concrete, choking on a stomach full of seawater and God knows what else. Choking and humiliated, but alive. He drew himself up on all fours and hacked.

"For Yevon's sake, Felix, what's that vest made of?"

"You really think those cigarettes are a good idea now? That's the slowest I've ever seen a grown man move!"

"Fuck you." Felix pulled his beret out of his vest and wrung it dry before snugging it down on his head. He whipped his pistol through the air a few times and jiggled the slide to clear the barrel and action. He blinked hard, trying to clear the stinging saltwater from his eyes. The rucksack fell away from his shoulders.

"Calm down." Wedge opened the bolt of his carbine and turned it on its side, letting a small amount of water trickle onto the ground. "The door is around the front. This way."

The actual construction of the sphere theater consisted mostly of a strange, stone-like substance pockmarked with bullet holes but altogether intact. He followed a swooping wall beneath the skull-like stone canopy, pistol at the ready. In front of a low, hemispherical counter stood a pair of Al-Bhed footsoldiers in their distinctive khaki garb. Their rifles sat leaning against the counter. One of the men reached forward and manipulated a sphere. An image of a familiar-looking redhead sprung into the air over the sphere, and the two soldiers began chattering in their consonant-heavy language as she stripped away what little clothing she wore.

_Where were _those _channels back on the ship?_

The three Crusaders stepped out of the shadowed entrance and into the light. Felix dropped into a half-crouch and fired twice, his shots leaving a pair of red blotches on a nylon-covered chest. He swiveled to fire again, but Wedge beat him to the punch. Felix edged forward and knelt over the man he shot, pressing two wet, grimy fingers against a tan neck. "Clear."

"So much for 'keep a low profile,'" Tel quipped.

Felix holstered his pistol. "Plan B makes the world go 'round." He picked up one of the rifles. By now, Al-Bhed weaponry made him feel right at home. Felix withdrew the magazine and tapped it against his thigh – it felt full enough. He worked quickly, yanking the remaining ammunition from the soldier's vest and inserting it into his own.

"Felix," Wedge hissed. "Let's _go; _we don't have time!"

He reinserted the magazine as he stood. "You know where we're going?"

Tel nodded. "What kind of a technician doesn't know where he works?" He stepped forward. "We're in the theater now."

"How far's the antenna?"

The technician paused a moment, scratching his head. "Two doors, give or take."

"You little shit, you said you work here!"

"I do."

"Then how the fuck do you not know where the station is?" Felix demanded.

Tel shrugged. "'Work,' 'work_ed_,' same thing. So maybe my floor plan is a little outdated, but hey – Plan B makes the world go 'round, right?"

Felix glowered.

Wedge delivered a powerful kick to the edge of the closest door, smashing it inwards. He charged into the space beyond, carbine at the ready. Felix and Tel followed close behind. The door opened into a three-way intersection, each hallway terminating in a few feet with another stylized wooden door. He glanced around at the green and white walls. Felix turned about in the puddle of water beneath his feet and furrowed his brow.

Tel completed the mercenary's thoughts. "Where the hell's every-"

The pounding of booted footsteps echoed from the lobby behind them. Wedge grabbed Tel by the utility vest and flung him into the nearest corridor. "Here they come!"

* * *

"Jazo, you see that?"

He squinted behind the Al-Bhed marksman's rifle. "Affirmative. Looks like that stadium just got _real_ busy. I count," he squinted through the scope again, "at least twenty of the sandeaters, sir, give or take a few."

Gatta whistled. "Wonder what stirred 'em up."

"A swarm of Lucans made it into the market district, sir. Could be reinforcements." Jazo pulled the rifle in tighter. He swiveled the weapon a fraction of a degree and squeezed the trigger.

"Fuck," Biggs shouted, "warn me first!"

"Sorry." Jazo smiled and ejected the spent shell. "Looks like our brothers need all the help they can get." He slid another round into the chamber. "I have clearance to shoot, right sir?"

Gatta nodded.

* * *

Felix stuck his rifle around the corner and fired, straining to keep the weapon's muzzle level. He yanked it back and pressed himself against the wall again. Rounds chipped away at the wall in front of him, coating the floor in a layer of pulverized stone and drywall. He glanced over his shoulder. "Get the fucking door open!"

"I'm _trying!_" Tel snapped.

He leaned out from the corner and cut loose a long burst, sweeping the white-painted front sight over the doorway occupied by Al-Bhed infantry. A flash of movement to his right attracted both Felix's eyes and the muzzle of his rifle. He fired again. A crimson spray elicited a predatory grin. Felix returned to cover and dropped the spent magazine to the floor as Wedge took his place, partially exposing himself to lay down a blanket of fire. "Dammit," Felix snarled, tugging another magazine out of his vest.

The technician crouched in front of a brass-accented wooden door. Picks and probes of various shapes and sizes sat wedged between it and the doorjamb. Tel removed a spidery hook from his mouth and inserted it beneath the lock. "How're my favorite Crusaders doing?"

"Goddammit, Tel! speed it up!"

Tel didn't look away from the dissected assembly. "You can't rush art. Now keep killing things."

He gritted his teeth and jammed the magazine home. "Boy, don't tempt me."

A moment later, a shout of triumph pulled Felix away from the bullet-riddled corner. "Got it," Tel sang. "Behold, the glory of the _other side_." He pulled the door open.

On the other side of the door, a grimy sink stood beside an equally decrepit toilet. A scratched mirror hung above the sink, topped with a yellowish fluorescent light. An off-center, abstract painting of red and yellow triangles adorned the opposite wall. The delicate fragrance of cleaning agents and urine mixed with seawater and cordite assailed Felix's nostrils, and he tightened his grip on the assault rifle.

Two languages' worth of profanities and vulgar abuses utterly failed him.

"You jerk."

Tel slid past Felix and into the bathroom. The technician smirked at the two Crusaders and unsheathed his shortsword. "Observe, ye of little faith." He smashed the weapon's pommel into the mirror, which shattered to reveal another bathroom, just as filthy as the first.

Felix leaned out from the corner and fired another long burst. "Why the _fuck _do they have a windo-"

"Two-sided mirror. Cutting costs means cutting corners." He raked the remaining shards of glass away from the window frame before sheathing his sword. "Now, who wants to go first?"

"Diesel, go!" Wedge called out.

Felix stuck his rifle through the window and dropped it on the floor, hooking a hand around one side of the opening for leverage as he clambered over the sink. The wet fabric over his knee slipped on the porcelain, and Felix snarled a series of unintelligible expletives when his groin met a hard, plastic knob on the faucet. He pushed himself through the window headfirst; the unforgiving steel magazines in his vest broke the impact of his fall. Felix snatched up his rifle.

Tel slid through the window next, feet first and with considerably more grace. "Everything in one piece?"

"I hate you."

"Message received."

A loud _thwump_ announced Wedge's arrival. He rose to his feet and dusted himself off, then bent and retrieved Felix's pistol. "Let's move before they figure out what happened. I wedged the door shut with the toilet seat."

Felix took a step backwards from the door. He lifted his rifle and blasted away at the doorknob, tracing a semicircle around it. The impact of his foot smashed the door outward and bounced it back to him off the wall. Felix stopped it with an outstretched hand.

"Impressive," Tel said. "Doors _unlock from the inside_, though. Which, you know, is where we are."

"I need a smoke."

"And some therapy."

Wedge stepped in front of Felix before Tel received a rhinoplasty courtesy of a flying sink. "Kids," he said, pushing the technician out the door, "we're running out of time here."

* * *

Yuna plucked at the red fabric of her pajamas as she looked about her room. The pale light of dawn seeped in through the blind-shielded porthole on the far wall, its rays casting a lattice of thin shadows on the rug. A number of inert spheres hung or sat on various surfaces within the cabin. Yuna leaned against the back of her chair, tapping a fingernail on one armrest. The sphere on the desk before her continued to emit white noise until Yuna switched it off with a small sigh, scooting forward in the wicker chair. She rose to her feet; the wood planking creaked beneath her as she paced the distance from the desk to her bed and back. She sighed. "A return to the spiral in two years. Yunalesca must be proud." A film of tears spread over Yuna's eyes as she muttered the last four words, and she shook her head.

She returned to her chair and ran a finger over the edge of the desk. A lock of hair fell into her eyes, and Yuna brushed it behind her ear. She turned her gaze to the still-closed door, then to the porthole, and finally to the lifeless sphere on the desk. Yuna bit her lip. "I stopped it the first time; I can do it again." She turned the sphere on once more. "Pick up, Uncle."

* * *

"The Lucans are moving on the stadium, sir. We have to help them."

Gatta shook his head. "No way, Private. It's too risky for us to cross. Lulu's tits are less exposed than that street. Besides, you said there's a whole mess of 'em."

"With all respect, sir, I highly recommend we take action." Jazo blinked hard and licked his lips; his tongue ran quickly over cracked skin. "From what I've been seeing, sir, the Lucans are taking brutal casualties." His thumb toyed with the selector switch of the rifle, taking the weapon from safe to fire and back again. His other hand reached up to wipe a smudge from the scope lens.

"He's right, Gatta. I watched six of 'em go down right in front of the doors. If Jazz-"

"It's Jazo."

Biggs glanced at his comrade, then back at Gatta. "Unless we give support, our friends across the street will all end up like Darren and Leks." He pressed his lips together.

Gatta appeared to weigh the decision in his head, his fingers drumming on the grip of his carbine. "Jazz, you think you can give us some cover?"

Jazo clenched his jaw. "It's Jazo, sir. Yes sir, I can cover you as you move across." He left the selector on fire and tapped the trigger guard with his index finger, licking his lips and blinking hard once more. Spidery, red lines crisscrossed the whites of Jazo's eyes, and a semicircle of congealed blood adorned the skin beneath the right one. He nodded against the rifle's stock. "Come out and play," he whispered.

As Biggs and Gatta climbed down the stairs out of the loft, the two men spared a glance backwards. "That kid could scare a Varuna half to death," Biggs muttered. "Last time I saw that kind of bloodlust, the guy was covered in markings and holding two pistols at once."

"It's just adrenaline. He'll probably bail on us as soon as he has time to think."

Biggs paused at the door to the street. "And if he doesn't?"

"We'll thank the Fayth he's on our side." Gatta peeked out the door. "Feeling up to a sprint?"

"Not really."

"Too damn bad." He leaned out again. "We'll head through that plaza." Gatta looked up at the ceiling. "You better be sharp kid. Biggs?"

"On you."

Gatta nodded and tightened the sling of his carbine. "Right. Count three after I go – they'll only get one of us that way."

Biggs chuckled. "Hope their aim sucks," he said, half joke and half prayer.

A deep _crack _resounded from upstairs, and Biggs hurled himself into the street. A swarm of angry, lead hornets hissed and crackled past his head. The inert fountain at the center of the shopping plaza drew ever nearer. Gatta raced ahead of him. The officer reached the sidewalk a moment too early, and let out a shout of alarm as he tumbled to the pavement in a heap.

Biggs grabbed the back of Gatta's assault vest with an outstretched hand and dragged him through a nearby doorway. "I gotcha, cap."

Silence.

"Gatta?" Biggs released his grip on the nylon handle and turned around. "Let's-"

"Luzzu." The name blurbled out of Gatta's mouth around a gout of thick, dark blood. A trio of neat holes, islands in an expanding sea of red, stared up through the gaps in his vest's webbing. Gatta clutched at his wounds with dirty fingers, staring at the blood on his hands with an expression of puzzled frustration. A glassy sheen crept into his eyes as his gaze locked on the ceiling. "Luzzu," he repeated, his arms feebly rising like an infant reaching for his invisible mother.

Gatta's arms fell.

Biggs picked up his Captain and set him down atop an elaborate wooden bar that stretched from wall to wall before an ornate, colorful glass structure. A few drops of blood oozed out of the corpse and left little streaks across a plaque triumphantly announcing the name of a champion blitz team. Gatta's arm flopped down. Biggs lifted it and set it back on the Captain's chest. Blue and gold lights glared down through the glass, reflected in the lifeless film over Gatta's eyes.

He set his back to the scene. Gunfire crackled and roared outside, but the little pub seemed untouched by battle. Biggs walked to the door; his boots left dark prints on the wooden floor.

Behind him, Gatta lay entombed in a world of wood and glass. Three drops of blood began to congeal on the polished surface of a plaque honoring a team of underdogs from a backwater island.

* * *

Jazo licked his lips and pulled his face away from the scope, blinking. He ejected a shell and rubbed his eyes. The Al-Bhed guns fell silent as he slid away from the window and lay flat on the ground. He cradled the rifle in the crooks of his arms, crawling on elbows and knees with his stomach almost dragging along the floor. Jazo's breathing came slow and deep, hitching at times. A glance over his shoulder revealed only the imagined hordes of enemies in the stairwell. He pulled his rifle to his side and cleaned the dust from the scope lenses, fogging up the glass with his breath and then wiping it clean with the cuff of his coveralls. "It's okay, sis," he whispered. "They can't hurt anyone anymore."

He rose to a knee and over the windowsill. The street still echoed with the din of a nearby battle from the Lucan Stadium, but the city behind him lay dormant. For now. A low, drawn-out rumble shook the building. Jazo lifted his rifle and paused. His lips pressed together as he scanned the area from his vantage point, focusing on a large chunk of rubble that drifted towards the stadium. He set the rifle on the windowsill and studied the object through the scope. "What the hell is _that_?"

* * *

Felix dragged a splintered desk in front of the double doors. The handles of the doors sat just above the top of the desk, and would be unable to turn further than a few degrees. He turned around and surveyed what had once been the main hall of the sphere theater, according to Tel. Concentric rings of wooden desks lined the vast space, each with its own small monitor. An unidentifiable device dangled awkwardly from the high ceiling. Here and there, anemic flames licked at the velvet fabric of chairs or at the desks themselves. A slight breeze, wafting in through the gaping hole at the far end of the room, twitched the papers that lay about the floor. The scorched, blackened corpses of men and women lay sprawled on the ground, their clothing peeled from their bodies. "Bomb," he said.

Wedge nodded. "Musta been a big one, too."

"Shit," Tel laughed. "Looks like there isn't even an antenna to fix!" Broken glass crunched under his boots. "Now would be an excellent time to mention I don't give refunds."

Felix stepped over one of the bodies, towards the missing section of the theater. A few pebbles dislodged by his movements skittered over the edge and disappeared into the water. _Hope that bomb didn't crack the foundation, or we're screwed._ Something on the floor caught his eye. It looked like someone had managed to shatter a bowling ball made of blue glass. Felix gave a jagged, hemispherical shard a nudge with his boot; the fragment turned into a viscous, opaque blob at the moment of contact. "What the-"

"Piece of a sphere. Don't ask what they're made of, because it's crazy enough to rape your mind and your dog at the same time. The one that _used _to be in that array was powerful enough to redirect transmissions from other spheres.'"

"So in light of that," Felix said, pointing at the decimated structure hanging from the ceiling, "we're boned."

"Bingo," Tel said, snapping his fingers.

Wedge sighed and looked around. "Let's get the hell out of here; it's too quiet for my taste."

* * *

Inside the stadium, shards of glass danced about on trembling concrete. Streams of lead spat from pockets of Al-Bhed soldiers, crouching or standing throughout the corridor. The sword-toting Crusaders took refuge behind any and all solid outcroppings, pressing themselves against the unyielding stone. Bodies and body parts lay strewn about the stadium floor, the colors of their individual articles of clothing indistinguishable in a sea of scarlet. One Crusader, his purple and white uniform splattered with that same hue, turned towards Biggs, who sat behind a curved lump of concrete. "They tried to take us out with a charge," he screamed, "but we cut them back! Now they're just picking us apart!"

Proned-out behind an overturned bench, Roland slapped a nearby Lucan on the shoulder. "If we get their heads down, can you clear 'em out?"

The Crusader nodded.

Lying on Roland's left, Jassu nodded. "Ready!"

After a deep breath and a muttered prayer, Roland inched sideways on his belly until he could peer around the side of the bench. His jaw clenched. The tip of his finger alighted on the trigger of his carbine and slid halfway down the striated surface. "NOW!"

The Al-Bhed who forsook solid cover to stand and fire at the Lucans found themselves exposed to twin clouds of speeding lead. Those with the faculties to do so turned to run, but not before a pattern of deep red blotches traced up their bodies. Shaven heads ducked below cover. The bolt of Biggs' weapon locked back. He reached for a fresh magazine.

Through the cacaphony, a high-pitched note from a whistle reverberated off the stadium walls.

An ocean of purple and white burst forth from behind planters and inside nooks and crannies. The Lucans surged down the corridor; their long, hooked swords flashed in the artificial light of muzzle blasts. Roland and Jassu rose to their feet. The Lucan formation crashed against the Al-Bhed fortifications with an inhuman cry. Flesh and steel collided. The vicious ocean did not slow. In its wake lay the remnants of men. Spots of purple dotted a khaki and red field.

The men from Besaid lowered their carbines as the battle began to subside, the former din lessened to a dull roar in the not-so-far-off distance. Jassu shook his head; rivulets of sweat ran from his bleached hair onto his dark skin. "Yevon help the Al-Bhed."

"Not even Sin could stop that," Roland muttered. He crouched beside the wounded Lucan. "Jassu, go track down a mage or some potions. We can't leave these guys here."

* * *

Biggs tapped the Lucan on the shoulder. "Where are the rest of us?"

The man turned. A large, broad bandage was tied around the top of his head. "Saw some of you Besaid boys headed up for the station earlier, but there's two just around the corner."

"Thank you for your help." He stumbled past the wounded Lucan and towards a door at the end of the blood-soaked hallway.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" The Lucan reached into his pocket. "You're _soaked_ in blood - here, I've got a little potion left."

Biggs regarded him with a blank expression. "It's not mine."

"Oh." He withdrew his hand, paused, then raised his eyebrow. The bandage on his head wrinkled. The Crusader was an older man with a graying mustache and a swarthy complexion. "You sure you're alright?"

He kept a newborn deer's pace towards the door, his boots leaving long, smearing, bloody prints on the spaces not already stained. "Yes."

* * *

The doorknobs bounced off the top of the desk twice, then returned to a neutral position.

Wedge and Felix leveled their weapons at the wooden doors. "Who's there?"

"Biggs."

Felix pushed the table away and edged to one side of the doors. "It's open," he said, finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. He motioned for Wedge to move to the other side of the entrance. The doors swung open, and a haggard-looking Biggs stumbled into the main hall. His coveralls were drenched in blood. He didn't look like a dead man walking – he looked like some sick bastard that slept in an abattoir. "Jesus, you scared the piss out of me. The hell happened to you? And why the hell're you out here?"

"Gatta's dead."

Silence.

Wedge pressed his lips together. "Were you-"

"I was with him."

Silence.

Biggs looked Felix straight in the eyes. "This was your idea. It's your fault."

Wedge stepped forward. "I planned the-"

"I knew you would go to the station," Biggs continued. "You should have died instead."

Felix didn't flinch. "You wanna kill someone right now, don't you. You want someone to bleed to death right in front of your fucking eyes. That's just what you want, isn't it." His voice lowered. "You just want to start killing and never stop."

Biggs clenched his teeth. "I hate you."

"Hate whomever you fucking please."

"You deserve to die."

"No shit!" Felix roared. "You think you're the first to say that? Listen up and listen good, because I have _had _it up to _here_ with this bullshit. This is a fucking _war_. People _die_. Gatta was a damn good man, but he's just one more cog to this fucking machine. And so are you, and so am I, and so is this bitch," he said, waving at Tel.

Silence.

"If you want to kill someone, then quit acting like a schoolgirl and go wipe out the cunts that started this whole war. That's why we're here – to finish this shit. We are going to march straight over the Valley of Death, because we are gonna fill that motherfucker with Al-Bhed and piss in it."

They stood in silence for a long moment.

Biggs nodded at last.

* * *

A few moments later, Felix swung his legs over the counter and set his feet down on the bloodstained floor of the sphere theater's entrance. The bodies of the two Al-Bhed soldiers still lay in the same places, the coppery smell of blood thick in the air. Felix wondered if somewhere, in a few days, two aged Al-Bhed couples would receive a letter from the government filled with hollow condolences. He nudged a bloody face with his boot, and stared down into its glazed eyes with calm satisfaction. _And how much money did YOU earn for college, asshole?_

Death didn't bother Felix. After all, he had made quite a living snuffing out the lives of others. A smile curled his lips. After almost twenty years of pulling triggers and throwing grenades, only three pairs of vacant eyes ever managed to trouble him. A sea of blood and booze kept those faces submerged, though. He kicked the dead man back over before his mind turned the corpse into something else.

Outside, the first rays of dawn began to peek over the watery horizon and cast long shadows on the concrete. Felix's head began to pound, and he reached up with his left hand to rub his temple. _I need a cigarette. Along with six nukes, a Maker's, and a girl who could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch._

"Headache?" Wedge asked.

"It's fine. Let's move."

Wedge stopped. "I hear something."

"Can't say I do."

He closed his eyes. "It's like a-" His eyes opened as the pebbles on the ground in front of the five men began to hop and skitter across the stone.

"Oh, fuck!"

The Crusaders' weapons would be of little use against the monstrous invocation of Murphy's Law gnashing its way out of the stadium and onto the thin strip of concrete connecting the theater to the city itself. Wooden flagpoles snapped like frozen strands of hair before being thrown into the ocean. One minigun stuck sharply outward, and the machina's turret sat at an awkward cant, its muzzle skimming just above the black waters of the Lucan ocean.

Felix took a step backwards, then broke into a full sprint. His boot slipped in the puddles of gore atop of the counter. He threw his hands out at the floor racing up to meet him, but his reflexes failed; Felix's elbows bounced off the unyielding floor a fraction of a second before the rest of his body. He pushed himself up and turned around, expecting a pair of notched, steel screws to begin tearing his body apart. Instead, Felix watched them scrape away at the sloped flanks of the entrance until the machina burst through the outer wall and sat with its nose in the lobby.

The smells of exhaust and diesel fuel assaulted Felix's lungs, and he attempted to eject one of them through his mouth. The grinding engine eased away from its powerband as the screws ate away at the stone like a pair of massive drills. The limp turret swayed and twitched with the slightest movement of the tank's body. He gritted his teeth and lifted the assault rifle – he'd pop their eardrums, at least. Two other guns added their futile voices to the deafening clamor; their rounds sparked off the steel chassis and screamed into the dawn sky. The machina continued to churn its way forward, undeterred by minute acts of defiance.

Dislodged from the central support, a smooth, curving piece of stone bounced off the angular flank of the machina before it, too, was swept backwards by one of the screws. The stone lodged itself between the twisting steel and the entryway, and Felix heard the engine's roar become a high-pitched whine. The machina rocked back and forth, yet the brick refused to give way.

_He's trapped._

Felix launched himself back over the counter and past the soldiers on the floor, his feet racing ahead of his mind. He clambered up the front of the tank, using the twisted minigun as a handhold to pull himself upward. Beneath his boots, the machina continued to buck against the jam. Felix pried at a raised panel, but it refused to budge. He beat against the hatch with the butt of his rifle, screaming at the men within the steel shell. "Fucking _open!_"

Wedge hauled himself onto the machina and shook Felix by the shoulder. "Hang on, it's jammed!" He leaned over the hatch, fiddling with the latch for a few seconds. He rose to his feet. "Hit it towards the back!"

He nodded, and shifted his weight onto the other knee. Felix drew his rifle back and smashed the butt into the U-shaped handle welded to the top of the hatch. The mechanism gave way inch by inch, opening the hole wider with each slammed against the edge of the opening. He raised himself from his knees and shoved his rifle into Wedge's arms. "Hold that!"

Felix slid his pistol from the battered, waterlogged holster strapped to his thigh. He set one foot on the uppermost rung of a red-painted ladder. Felix pointed his handgun into the dim chamber as he descended. His boots touched down on the perforated metal floor and he crept further into the tank's cacophonous gullet. The blinking of innumerable LEDs and digital readouts painted the constricted space in hues of yellow, blue, and orange.

The shaft of light from the open hatch disappeared, and a sense of dread filled his mind.

That dread soon found itself replaced by adrenaline as a man erupted from the shadows. Felix ducked a gloved fist headed for his face, but received a boot between his legs. His vision filled with stars. He squeezed the trigger, but his pistol was torn from his hands as it fired. The corrugated steel floor dug into his face and hands. It felt like a baseball bat swung full-length hit him between the shoulder blades. Someone lifted him by his vest and rammed his head into a monitor. Shards of glass sliced into his flesh. Felix crumpled to the ground and fumbled for his knife.

The man was on him as the blade slipped free. Felix felt a pair of strong hands wrest it from his grasp. A wet, warm film covered his eyes, blanketing everything in darkness. He strained against thick forearms, heart racing as they slid ever closer. The sound of the other man's breath was a growling hiss, a cross between a wild dog and a snake. His arms were dying. Felix could almost feel the tip of the knife. His breathing became a series of ragged coughs. It was over as quickly as it began, and Felix's attempt at last words ended in a pained whimper.

A shaft of light obliterated the darkness.

With a pair of gunshots came a sudden torrent of warmth and two blows to the ribs. The crushing pressure against his arms disappeared. The tanker collapsed onto Felix's left side, and the grip of the knife pressed against his elbow.

A familiar, youthful voice cut through the sensory haze. "Sergeant, are you alright?"

* * *

"Your boy went to get a white mage from the Lucans. Felix should be fine. Dunno what the kid was thinking, shooting into that machina. Lucky he didn't blast Felix's head clean off." Tel eased himself onto a battered and charred red velvet chair. "Tough bastard, he is."

Wedge nodded. "He'd give an Unsent a run for their money," he said, wiping grease from his chin. "Few screws loose, too."

"Why did the hatch close?"

"I guess that's how it's designed. Soon as he went in, the damn thing snapped shut. Didn't even have time to blink."

Tel chuckled. "Ain't that just a bitch."

"Yeah." Wedge stood and began walking towards the large hole in the back of the sphere theater. He paused at the edge, glancing for a moment at the fingers of dawn creeping over the water. "It's a bitch, alright," he muttered.


	16. Just Causes

**A/N: Well, here she is! As usual, direct your hate mail to my PM box. I told you I wasn't done with Causes. I've just been crazy fuckin' busy. Next chapter is written already - I'm trying to get back to my old routine of working on two chapters at a time, one in pre-beta and one in beta.**

* * *

Undisclosed location

1300 Hours

August 19, 2005 – two years ago

Felix curled his toes inside a pair of stiff leather shoes. At the long table opposite him sat three men in medal-adorned dress uniforms, their wheel hats resting beside mugs of notoriously harsh Army coffee. The men studied the contents of a pair of manila folders open on the table before one of them looked up. "Sergeant DiMarco, your service record is commendable."

"Thank you, General Mitchell, sir."

"Have you been made aware of the charges brought against Specialist Van Dyke and yourself by Sergeant Burns?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

The graying, mustachioed general frowned. "Do you understand the severity of these charges?"

His stomach churned. "Yes, sir, I do."

"And a' course," a colonel drawled, "there'll be no judge for you boys. Uncle Sam's gone and swept your dumb asses under the rug."

Another of the men pulled his gaze away from the type-covered papers. "Sergeant DiMarco, are you able to fully and accurately recall the events of August twelfth, two-thousand five?"

"Yes sir." Felix straightened himself further and closed his eyes. "Captain Garcia delivered our orders for a daylight raid on a small village a few dozen miles away from the Iranian border. An informant reported that a high-ranking member of Al-Qaida was visiting his extended family in the area…"

The harsh odor of sweat, dust, and gasoline assailed his nostrils, leaving them feeling almost raw.

"Yo, Diesel!" Hollywood's voice boomed from the passenger seat, battling for audibility over the dull roar of a diesel engine. "Get your head in the game, son!"

He opened his eyes and nodded, tapping a gloved finger to the sharp curve of his baseball cap's brim. "Already there, sarge."

Hollywood flashed his notorious smile. "Don't gotta call me 'sarge' no more, kid. How're them stripes feelin'?"

Felix grinned. "Like a third head."

"You'll get used to 'em soon enough. Just like that goddamn fruit salad the Army spilled on your shirt."

"I'm _still _not used to that."

_ "We rolled up into the village and disembarked from the three-vehicle convoy. The Humvees had to pick up a group of journalists from the local airstrip in half an hour, placing our mission under severe time constraints."_

_ "Why didn't you object to that?"_

_ "At the time, sir, I felt that our team was fully capable of completing the assigned objectives without delay."_

He ducked out of the doorless transport and squinted through a pair of battered Oakleys. Without even a whisper of a breeze, the oppressive Iraq heat brought even more sweat forth from every part of Felix's body. The dust left his nose and the back of his throat feeling raw. He still hadn't figured out a good way to deal with that, without feeling smothered by a shemagh.

The twelve Green Berets began walking away from the trio of light-brown Humvees; Felix and Hollywood stood at the front of the staggered column. The sand and gravel crunching under their boots provided the only noise in an otherwise lifeless town. Sun-bleached awnings and shutters hung motionless in the air.

"Are we late?" Kirk shifted his plate carrier and cracked his neck. "Place is a ghost town."

Felix frowned and glanced back at the Humvees, parked beside a rickety-looking blue cart.

_"Everything felt wrong. The streets were empty, the buildings were silent – we couldn't even hear a stray dog barking. The silence was unnerving, to say the least."_

"Spread out," he ordered. "First squad on me." He avoided crossing the wide, rutted road through the village, choosing instead to gravitate towards one of the plastered walls of a nearby building. The five men behind him followed suit, each one almost brushing the wall as they streamed into the village.

_"We told ourselves the people were at prayer."_

Kirk's voice broke the silence on the radio. "Possible movement in the red two-story to the West. Top floor, left side window."

_"We were wrong."_

A flash of light and an earthshaking explosion rocked the silent village, followed by the rattle of automatic gunfire. The ringing in Felix's ears soon drowned out whatever noises came next as he dove into an alley and out of the kill zone.

He heard Hollywood screaming over the radio, the sound crisp in his earpiece through the din of battle. "Goddammit! Squad One, get into the buildings and flank that nest!"

_The General drummed his fingers on his off-white mug. "Nobody saw this I.E.D. before it detonated?"_

_ "No, sir."_

_ Another of the three men sat forward. "Sergeant DiMarco, suspicious-looking objects or vehicles should _always _be investigated. Your inaction is directly responsible for the deaths of the six soldiers who remained in their Humvees."_

_ He clenched his teeth together for the briefest of moments. "Sirs, there is no excuse for my failure to follow procedure."_

_ "Good boy."_

_ "With all respect," he continued, "Sergeant Burns-"_

_ "I ain't gonna let you pass the buck, son. Just 'cause one jackass fucks up don't mean you ain't responsible for rectifying his fuckup. Two wrongs, no right. Understand me?"_

_ "Yes, sir."_

Felix sprinted down the alley until the stone wall parted with a wooden door, which he kicked off its weak hinges. The room was small and brown, decorated with a large, woven rug and a number of clay pots. Felix dropped into an instinctive half-crouch. He flashed through the room without pausing, eyes flicking from wall to wall.

Behind him, the five other members of Squad One shuffled across the rug. Felix reached a shuttered window at the end of the room, and unfastened the sling of his carbine. "Kirk!"

His friend slid on his kneepads and crashed into the wall. "Yo."

"Where's that nest at?"

"In the top of the tree."

"Funny." The butt of Felix's M4 broke a hole through one weather-beaten shutter. He elevated his head enough to peek over the windowsill and into the dusty streets. Sure enough, in the building less than half a block away, Felix could make out the barrel of a rifle resting on a sandbag. He lowered himself back to relative safety and slid away from the window. "Blow the sand eating birds up, please."

"With pleasure." Kirk slid open the grenade launcher mounted on the handgrip of his M4, inserted a round, and slammed the barrel back into position. He stuck the weapon out the window Felix opened and flipped up the leaf sight. "Red two-story, yeah? Got him."

With a deep _thoonk_, the rifle bucked. A moment later came the sound of an explosion.

Kirk grinned. "You know, I never get tired of this thing."

Felix's earpiece squawked. "Squad One, split up and spread out through the buildings. Squad Two, get that road blocked to the North. We gotta find Achmed before he has a chance to bug out."

"_Sergeant, at which point were you isolated from your men?"_

_ Felix curled his toes again. "After the machinegun nest was neutralized, Squad One split into pairs while Squad Two cut to the north end of the town in order to prevent a vehicular escape by our target. Specialist van Dyke and I entered a large dwelling, approximately ten meters away from us, from the side."_

_ General Mitchell frowned again. "Are you saying Specialist van Dyke was with you the entire time?"_

_ "No, sir. We were separated by the collapse of an interior wall due to explosives, and he was forced to find another way to my location. I decided to continue onward, until..."_

_ "Until?"_

_ He wanted nothing more than to disappear. "Until I was ambushed."_

Child soldiers were a familiar sight, but not this young. No more than five or six, the boy held the pistol awkwardly, the tips of both index fingers inside the trigger guard. He held it as far away from his body as a pair of scrawny arms could manage, pointed square at Felix's chest. Behind it, a pair of large, dark eyes seemed filled with anger, confusion, and fear – the thoughts of a man reflected in the gaze of a child.

His thin, brown fingers flexed.

The tiny head disappeared in a wet burst. Felix watched the body collapse, lowering his rifle. He brushed a piece of warm flesh away from the corner of his mouth, a wave of bile rushing to his teeth.

_"Was your life in danger?"_

_ Felix blinked hard. "I perceived-"_

_ "I don't care what you _perceived. _ Answer the question: was your life, at that moment, in danger?"_

_ His answer came out as almost a whisper. "No."_

He bent and picked up the pistol, fingers leaving little trails in the dust. The nondescript, gray automatic felt odd in his hands; far too light. Felix felt as though he were watching himself on high-def television, a picture too sharp and vivid to possibly be real. He gripped the serrated slide and squeezed.

The plastic bent beneath his fingers.

_"At what point did you realize you had chosen to fire on a noncombatant – a _child_?"_

_ "Sir, I-" Felix swallowed the lump in his throat. "It was impossible to tell-"_

_ "DiMarco," the General rumbled, "let me say that of all the people in this room, I would be the first to shut this circus down at this point. You believed you were being threatened, and reacted appropriately for a combat situation."_

_ "However," another continued, "Sergeant DiMarco hasn't finished his story. Please continue."_

_ Felix stared at the spotless tile, focusing on the thin lines of black grout between the white squares. It looked to him that the grout was trying to swallow the tile, bleeding past its boundaries and contaminating every millimeter it touched. He swallowed another lump in his throat. "She ran in screaming."_

Felix trained his rifle on the hysterical woman. She froze in mid-step, eyes wide above her heavy black veil.

_"I… I didn't know what-"_

_ "Bullshit," the general rumbled._

A double tap. Only one eye remained, staring arrows into Felix's soul from halfway down the outside of the veil.

His feet felt disconnected as he stepped over her corpse and onto the foot of a narrow staircase. Half of Felix's mind screamed at his body to stop; the other half insisted that the event horizon lay just behind the plastic gun on the floor. He climbed up one step at a time, the pounding footfalls seeming distant and muffled. It reminded him of his childhood nightmares, where a will other than his own dominated his body during flight from an unseen monster.

He was the monster now.

_"You're a sick, twisted son of a bitch."_

Felix shot the man where he stood, at the top of the stairs. He pinned the trigger back until the shower of brass ceased, watching with unnatural apathy as high-velocity rounds tore a screaming, flailing body to an unrecognizable mass of giblets. The corpse slid towards him, leaving a trail of gore, before the head wedged against the banister. A heavy, crimson waterfall dribbled down the stairs. He turned away and climbed back down to the grave of his conscience.

_"Why?"_

_ Felix bit his lip and muttered an answer._

_ "Sergeant DiMarco?"_

_ "Because she knew I killed her son."_

_ "And the boy's father?"_

_ He felt a familiar numbness arise in his chest, and let the feeling purge away the guilt flaying his mind. "The same."_

_The third man nodded. "When did Specialist van Dyke reach your location?"_

_ "About thirty seconds afterwards, sir."_

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ!" Kirk pulled himself through the window. "What the fuck happened?" He stood, and fixed his gaze on Felix. "Felix?"

Felix let his rifle clatter to the stone floor as he sank against the wall. He held his gloved hands in front of his eyes, turning the palms towards himself. His vision spun.

"God have mercy_…_ Felix, get up."

"I didn't mean to," he said, staring at his palms – or rather, where his palms should be. Felix's world twisted into a blackening spiral, its apex at the plastic gun, visible in terrifying clarity between his hands.

Kirk grabbed him by his plate carrier and yanked him to his feet. The other soldier slammed Felix into the wall. "Goddammit, Felix!" He looked back at the two bodies. "Go grab some knives from the kitchen. We've been through too much shit together – I'm not letting you go to Leavenworth over this."

_"Specialist van Dyke and I attempted to stage a just cause for the shooting."_

Kirk closed the woman's fingers about the battered plastic grip of a bent steak knife. "You take care of daddy?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Kirk stood up. "Let's get back to Hollywood and the boys. Sounds like the fight's over out there."

A familiar, deep voice snarled out of the hallway behind them. "You got one thing right, boy. It's over."

Kirk's hand dropped limply to the grip of his pistol. "Hollywood."

"Don't, Kirk. Just don't."

_ "You were apprehended by Sergeant Burns and the men under his command?"_

_ "Not just his men, sir. My men as well."_

Felix pressed his forehead against the wall as his belt was cut away from his waist. His armored vest and rifle lay on the floor, next to Kirk's. A pair of hands ran down the outside of his widely-spaced legs, then grabbed his wrists and brought them to the small of his back. A pair of plastic loops was slipped over his hands and cinched to the point of extreme discomfort. He clamped his eyes shut as a burlap sack slid over his head.

He opened his eyes.

General Mitchell took another sip of his coffee. "What I have heard over the course of this tribunal is an example of the very worst humanity has to offer. A decorated Special Forces operator murders a family in their home, and then attempts to cover up his crimes with the assistance of another operator. You disgust me, Sergeant DiMarco. If there were any justice in this world," he continued, "I'd have you and van Dyke swinging from a tree outside."

The second man nodded. "Two cold-blooded murders. Sergeant DiMarco, you deserve nothing less than immediate, public execution."

"However," the third officer drawled, "this ain't that simple. Boy, your country hates this goddamn war, and you can bet your ass that this ain't gonna help. First the WMD's, then that Blackwater clusterfuck, and now this. Word gets to the press that two Green Berets massacred an Iraqi family, and the whole goddamn world would be screaming like a raped ape for us to get the hell out – and you know we can't do that. Gentlemen, if we give these boys what they deserve, we're just creating more leverage to force us out before our job is done. Sergeant, you oughta die for what you done, but we can't swallow a camel to spit out a fly."

"Then they'll rot in Leavenworth. Ship their asses home in a cage."

Felix curled his toes again.

"We have to keep them off the official papers. Freedom of Information, all that lib bullshit. DiMarco, your discharge will be filed before the end of the day. You're done. Period. If you breathe a word of this to _anyone,_ you willdisappear. As this is all off the record, I strongly suggest you and van Dyke end this yourselves and save us the trouble of hunting your asses down like diseased dogs. Dismissed."

With the slap of folders on a table and the click of a pen, Sergeant Felix DiMarco was transformed from a decorated warrior to an outcast; from a middle-class life to being one of millions of unemployed. He destroyed his family name, and his legacy. He'd never be able to give his son his old uniform. The tattoo on his back was burning.

He remembered to close the doors behind him.

Tears and sweat are indistinguishable in the Middle Eastern heat.

* * *

The man was clean, pale, and wearing a navy blue suit. All three of these were anomalies in the middle of Kuwait. General Mitchell looked up from his paperwork at the visitor who, according to the dispatch on the desk, had been waved through security checkpoints thanks to a small piece of paper contained in his otherwise normal-looking passport. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I was told you have new cases for me."

Mitchell reached into his desk and produced the thick manila envelope. "These two. Don't know why you wouldn't look somewhere for people with cleaner records."

The visitor accepted the envelope and tucked it inside his suit jacket. "They do the work, and aren't missed."

"From what I heard, Blacktip's been involved in some real shit. It'd be war if anyone found out where you got those boys."

"The private sector has been a wonderful thing for governments. Uniforms are a relic of a bygone time, Hank. War isn't about bullshit ideals, or loyalty, or any of that feel-good masturbation. Contractors only care about whoever is paying them to pull a trigger. Thisis the new face ofwar, and you and I are in on the goddamned ground floor." He turned to leave. "The money will be in the account in an hour. Same password as last time. Oh, and Hank?"

The General shifted in his chair. "Yes?"

"If anyone finds out about this arrangement, I'd stay away from your windows for a while."

* * *

Two days after his eighth birthday, Felix went to the dentist to have a cavity-ridden tooth removed. The dentist, a wizened old black man with hair like steel wool spattered in whitewash, used far too little Novocain. The throbbing pain in his jaw remained there for weeks, much to his vocalized dismay.

The pain he felt upon waking up was much the same as that memory, but occupied his entire body instead of just his head. He managed to crack one eye open – the lids of the other refused to budge – and immediately regretted letting any light reach his brain.

"Oh Fayth, he's alive." Jazo's voice sounded drained. "Can you hear me?"

"No," Felix growled.

"You're on the _S.S. Winno,_ Sergeant. We're headed to the Highroad to beef up the Crusader garrison – it's faster than going overland."

He opened his eye a little wider, no longer overwhelmed by the volume of light, and stared at the wooden ceiling. "Where's Biggs?"

"Asleep."

"Wedge?"

"Attempting to find a bottle of sake."

"I think I'll join him."

"Sir, not in that shape, you won't." Jazo pulled his wicker seat to the side of the bed and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "You were bleeding like a stuck chocobo when we got you out of the tank. You got shot, by the way, and the absolute hell beaten out of you. Guess that vest thing worked after all."

"I know."

"The Lucan mage had to save her energy for the other wounded, so you're not all the way patched up; I'm sorry, Sarge."

"Is that why I feel like I slept with a silverback?"

"A what?"

He coughed. "Nevermind. When can I get up and smoke?"

"When we can get you apotion and a pack of cigarettes, sir."

Felix shut his eye. "Ain't that just a bitch."

Jazo fell silent for a moment. "Um, sir?"

Felix attempted to open his other eye, reaching up to rub away an obstructing crust. He noticed the bags under the Crusader's eyes, as well as the large mug in his hands. "Just Felix; I work for my living. The hell were you up so late?"

"Yes, si- Felix. Mage's orders – someone had to make sure you kept breathing and didn't soil that brand-new dress."

He glanced down at his new clothes. The garment reminded him of a hospital gown, except it wasn't made of paper and didn't leave his ass hanging out. It was more like a shower robe than a hospital gown, actually. _I think it's called a kimono. _"Kept the night watch, huh?"

"Something like that."

He sat up, leaning against the wall behind his bed, legs hanging over the side. The bandages that wound around his upper chest didn't allow much freedom of movement, making Felix feel more like a mannequin than a human. He tugged at the end of the gauze and stared at the floor. "You saved my ass, Jazo."

"Wedge is the one who got the hatch open."

"You shot Mongo off me." He scooted forward until his feet made contact with the wooden floor. "When're we expected?"

"Not for a while. Now lay down."

"No." Felix staggered to his feet, one hand wrapped around a bedpost for balance. "I'm gonna go drink myself into a stupor first."

Jazo shook his head. "White mage says you need rest."

"She can get boned. Just because I owe you don't mean I won't put your little head through the wall, Jazz."

He laughed and offered Felix the mug. "Here, drink this. It's not _just_ tea."

Felix laughed. "I knew there was a reason I liked you," he said, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the mug. He took a gulp of the steaming contents. The taste reminded him of Tracy after her morning tea. With a sigh, he hoped the extra ingredients could make him forget that.

"Something wrong?"

"Nah. How much did you put in here?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Jazo, what the fuck did I just drink?"

"It's my sister's secret blend. Told you it wasn't just plain tea."

"Huh." He took another sip. "Tastes good." It wasn't a _complete _lie; the tea tasted about as good as dead, boiled plant bits could taste. Felix preferred whiskey-laced black coffee to plain weed water, but without seeing so much as a shot glass of his old friend since showing up in Spira, tea would have to do for now. Until he found another stash of sake, that is.

"I'll have to tell her you like it. Nobody outside our family has had a taste yet."

He forced his aching muscles to allow him to shuffle towards the door. "This has just been the vacation of firsts, hasn't it?"

Jazo laughed. "Don't worry. She learned how to make it from our great-great aunt. I guess you could call it a family secret."

"I wouldn't know anything about that kind of thing," Felix said, "but if this tea'll keep me going for a little while, I can't say I object." He squeezed his shoulder blades together to try and ease the stiffness out of his upper back; with an audible _pop_, the tension in his spine released.

"Sounds like it hurt."

"Nah. I'm not that old, yet."

"You look it."

He shot the Crusader a glare. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I haven't seen a whole lot of Crusaders with gray in their beards, Sergeant."

Felix reached up and scratched his whiskers. The first bits of gray popped up in Bosnia, and every tour after that added a little more salt to the pepper. Still, it wasn't _that _noticeable, was it? "It happens."

"When you get old."

"I _told _you, I'm not old."

"Forty is old here in Spira.

He groaned, remembering Yuna's comments about his age. _Yuna._ Felix pressed his lips together a fraction of a moment to gather himself. "I'm in my prime, kid. And I've got a little ways to go until forty. Luca was your first combat deployment?"

Jazo stiffened, as though unsure of how to react. "Ah, that's correct, Felix."

"What'd you think?"

He paused. "It's... different."

Felix nodded. "Ain't like the stories."

"Not at all."

"Whatever shit you saw, and whatever shit you had to do – you're never gonna forget it." He leaned against the wall. "I shat cinder blocks my first time out."

"Really?"

"You coulda built a stadium in my shorts."

"You got over it, though."

"Yeah." Felix recalled his first combat deployment, roping in from a Huey into a little hole-in-the-map. He also recalled, with just a little less of a smile, the first time he snuffed out a life. A skinny, dirt-caked little bastard was only the first in a long, long line of deaths. Felix flinched. He hadn't let himself think about it lately. He had to stop before he remembered the reasons.

"You okay?"

He opened his eyes. "Yeah. Just lost myself, there."

"Maybe you should head back to bed."

"Oh, go to hell. I'm not laying in bed like some kind of fuckin' invalid. I need a smoke and a drink, and I don't give a damn if I have to shoot half of Luca to get 'em."

"Your funeral."

"I'm not _that _lucky." Felix stepped out of the carpeted hallway and up the stairs, flicking the storm latch aside and muttering a wish that the gorilla who kicked his ass was getting sodomized somewhere in Hell. Opening the door revealed yet even more sunshine, accompanied by a stiff breeze and the ever-present smell of salt. He stumbled onto the deck, and seized by a sudden migraine, leaned against a wooden support. His head felt like it was being sheared in half from inside. He needed a cigarette. Felix's kimono twitched in the wind, and the freedom that came with a lack of pants or undergarments displayed its drafty downside. He wondered if he could find another pair of pants like his obnoxious yellow ones. He liked those.

A smart-looking Lucan corporal shot the engineer of his train of thought, tapping Felix on the shoulder and gesturing at the boathouse. "The rest of your men are down in the galley, Sergeant."

He thanked the man and made his way to the railing_. How long have I been here? Weeks? Months? It has to be months. Christ, what have I missed in the real world? _Felix laughed gently – any harder, and he might have made his wounds worse. _Or is THIS my real world now?_

"Hey, Felix." Wedge appeared at his side, forearms resting on the whitewashed railing. "Feeling better?"

"S'much as I can hope for," he replied, popping his back again. "Is there any food left downstairs?"

"Breakfast's been cleaned out already. But I bet the cook would give you some extra servings if you ask."

Felix chuckled. "I think I will. I heard you were out scrounging for sake."

"Couldn't find a drop. When the Lucans say a place is dry, they mean _dry_."

"_Great._ Just what I needed to hear."

"I figured you'd be overjoyed." Wedge paused, then continued with a more somber tone. "We left a few of us back there."

"How many?" He asked, staring at the breeze-scraped surf.

"From Besaid? Darren, Leks, and Gatta. The bodies are headed to next of kin. From the Crusaders? Yevon only knows."

Felix turned and faced Wedge. "The mages couldn't save him?"

He shook his head. "Gatta was messed up bad. Maybe Yuna could have done something for him, but she's busy in Bevelle trying to keep Spira from exploding at the seams. Hope those Council types are all happy we took Luca."

"Or what's left of it," Felix added, remembering the mounds of rubble that littered the once populous city. What should have been a quick raid turned into a drawn-out battle, replete with artillery and , _tank. _"The Al-Bhed did a real number on the place. And we sure as hell did our best to help."

"Yuna better bust Nade's chops – the Al-Bhed militia managed to put together that gigantic machina right under his nose."

The second mention of her name reached his ears with more clarity. Felix wondered how the Summoner was faring in the world of political affairs – of which he knew little, aside from their ability to royally fuck up the world. He also wondered about whether or not she was burning effigies of him at the moment, but _that _situation needed to be contemplated in the presence of a lot of booze. "That wasn't the only thing someone has to explain," he said, re-boarding his train of thought at the correct station. "There were too many of them, too well-equipped, and too well-trained for that to be a local militia."

"You heard the sphere – the Al-Bhed in Luca rallied together. The Council got the intelligence from a captured unit."

Felix laughed. "Wedge, like I said, I've spent enough of my life dealing with local insurgencies to tell you that that wasn't one. Besides, there's no way in hell _every _Al-Bhed in the city had the exact same outfit and equipment as their neighbor. We didn't lose three of us and however many Lucan Crusaders to a bunch of pissed-off college students with hunting rifles."

"Felix, we've been over this already."

"No, _think _about it this time!" He waved a hand at the rearward horizon. "We show up to arrest a few civilians, and wind up blowing the hell out of an entire city trying to fight off every Al-Bhed on the planet. Christ, they had fucking mortars. And a tank. A _tank!_ Nobody issues a permit for that, not _even_ in a world where you can put people back together with fucking_ magic _and _ride giant birds._"

"They're bad neighbors, to say the least." Wedge furrowed his brow. "It's the preparations that really bother me, and I've been trying to explain them away to myself. But you're right. They had to know something was coming. There's no reason for them to stockpile those weapons otherwise. If they were that prepared for us, then this proves the Al-Bhed were definitely behind everything – the bombings and the attacks on Yuna were just a prelude for an all-out war, a war the Al-Bhed have been wanting for a long time, apparently."

He nodded. "This is just the start of something a hell of a lot bigger than you, or me, or Biggs can imagine."

* * *

The door to her room exploded inward. Yuna leaped to her feet and whirled, a blur of red silk and brown hair, knocking her chair to the floor behind her. Flanked by a pair of the mirror-plated ceremonial guards, Maester Nade flashed into the room, seizing the static-emitting sphere on Yuna's desk. "Arrest her!" He barked.

"What?" Yuna exclaimed, backpedaling away from the advancing guards. She snatched her staff from its resting place against the wall and brandished it in front of her. "Nade, what-"

"You have betrayed your people and your country."

"I've done nothing wrong!" She tightened her grip on the rod and flicked her gaze from guard to guard. Her breath raced, exhaling in quick pants. Yuna gritted her teeth. "As High Summoner, I order you to stand down. _Now._ Nade, you've made a mistake."

"The only mistake here, _Lady_ Yuna, is that the people of Spira believed you were their loyal leader."

"_I've done nothing wrong!"_

"Then explain your midnight call to Bikanel!" He thundered, slamming his fist onto the desk and sending a quill pen flying. Nade's breathing quickened. "Imagine my surprise – my horror – when I discovered the High Summoner was trying to contact the enemy." Nade drummed his fingers on the sphere. "Your lineage is known to all of us, Lady Yuna. That damned swirl in your eye gives it away."

Yuna's hands twisted around the corded grip of her staff. "You forget yourself," she snapped. "Leave."

"We thought you would never allow your heritage to interfere with your duty." He stepped toward her. "We thought your love of Spira was greater than your familial tethers. It appears that we were horribly, horribly wrong. You've betrayed your people, and Lord Braska's memory."

Yuna clenched her teeth. "You...you _bastard_! You manipulative, lying, _BASTARD_!" She jammed the end of the rod against the hardwood floor and snarled. The flames of the candles in the room turned white. "You already forced me against my blood – don't you _dare _attack my father's memory!"

Nade sighed. "I'm afraid my outburst has caused this to become much more difficult. Guards, escort Lady Yuna downstairs for the remainder of the voyage. Ensure she is comfortable, but she is not allowed any contact with the rest of the crew or passengers."

The guard on the left made a painful mistake, and grabbed Yuna by the arm. She whipped her staff upward between his legs. He collapsed to the floor in a whimpering heap. She swung the weapon in a wide arc at the remaining soldier, but he deflected it with an armor-plated forearm and latched onto the sleeve of her pajamas. With a yank and a spin, he twisted her arm behind her back. Yuna shouted, lifted her foot, and stomped down on the armored knee closest to her. It gave way with a sickening _snap_. The guard shrieked.

Yuna turned around, rod in hand, and found herself nose to nose with the snub barrel of a compact machina.

Behind his pistol, Nade's face contorted in sneering triumph. "Drop your stick. You _will _walk downstairs, or the gulls will feast on your corpse."

After a moment's hesitation, the rod clattered to the ground.

The candles were golden once more.

Another pair of guards clanked through the doorway, this time carrying pistols. The first stepped forward and gestured with his head toward the hallway. "Time to go, Lady Yuna."

She stepped over the good leg of the moaning guard and made her way across the room, past Nade and his upraised pistol, and took her place in front of and between the wary soldiers. The two men nudged her forward with their rifles, and the trio exited the room. Armored footfalls drowned out the almost silent tread of Yuna's bare feet. After a few moments, the sound grew more muffled, then disappeared.

With another sigh, Nade returned the little gun to its place within his robes and placed Yuna's sphere within his sleeve. He glanced at guard on the floor. "When you've finished," he said, speaking over the sound of dry retching inside a helmet, "take your friend to the mage." He strode out of the noisy cabin and chuckled.

"Where'd she learn to fight like that?" Aenna asked, leaning against the wall just outside.

"I would very much like to know. She nearly forced me to kill her."

"You know as well as I do that we can't do that yet," he murmured. The younger Maester, despite his words, held a compact pistol in his left hand. His fingers tightened about its wooden grip. "It's well that she's not trained in the black arts. We all would have been incinerated."

"A white mage as experienced as Yuna is every bit as deadly," Nade chided. "But a bullet to the brain remains as effective. Had she moved to cast, she would be dead."

Aenna fidgeted. "What's stopping her from doing it now?"

"Restraint, Aenna. Restraint." Nade inclined his head towards the end of the hallway. "Yuna may have the capability of destroying this ship and all aboard, but never would she attempt such a thing. Not even to save her life."

"We've taken away her contact to the outside and placed her under watch in the guards' quarters. She has every reason-"

"In her mind, there are too many innocent people aboard for her to take action. The guards, yourself, and even the servants – Yuna would _never _kill them to escape. Besides," he added, "she remains convinced that she will triumph over the Council – why take a chance at ruining that hope? And something else seems to be weighing upon her mind as of late."

"Your analysis is hardly reassuring," Aenna said. He tapped his foot. "We shouldn't have arrested her. It makes our motives too obvious."

Nade stepped closer to Aenna, his robes rustling. "None of the Council expected this. Especially not Nayla, that shortsighted fool. When word gets out that Yuna tried to get a sphere call through to Bikanel in the midst of a war, the half-bred bitch will _have _no allies. The people of Spira have not forgotten their hate for the Al-Bhed, especially after the recent attacks. She rose to power solely by her Spiran heritage, _not _her contamination. Hell, no one even _notices _that eye of hers until it's pointed out. The sheep are all so desperate to convince themselves their leader is one of them, and not some swine, that they would put out their own eyes with a hot iron before they faced the truth. Now, they will have no chance. Bringing the Calm is nothing compared to what many still believe: that the Al-Bhed's use of machina aggravated Sin and caused countless deaths. Yuna has delivered herself into the Council's hands. With her arrest, the Outline is supremely accelerated. We will seize emergency powers and bring this war to an immediate halt with overwhelming force. Following that-"

"The people will rule," Aenna finished. "It's our ultimate goal."

Nade smiled. "Yuna's betrayal was unexpected, but timely. Go to your quarters and inform Nayla of this development. He may be a fool, but he is a powerful fool, and one we must continue to keep on a short leash."

* * *

Nayla switched on the sphere and reclined in his chair, the room draped in a pale green glow. "So, Yuna has been arrested, Nade?"

"Yes. I'm glad the spherematch worked – it would be dreadful if the Council was unable to communicate."

"Indeed." He toyed with his pendant. "Aenna is delightfully ignorant, isn't he?"

"As well he should be. He has swallowed our bait, and the hook with it."

"Let him cling to the Outline," Nayla mused, smiling. "It gives him hope. After all, what is Spira without hope?"

"Enough of that. What news from your right hand?"

"Luca has been taken by the Crusaders. And apparently, the Besaid islanders' use of machina was particularly effective." He rubbed his thumb across the smooth silver on the back of his pendant. "The sphere networks are reporting your story about a militia uprising to the expected effect."

"Excellent."

"Except amongst the Besaid Crusaders. Elias reported that a non-commissioned officer in that unit remains adamant that it was an Al-Bhed military that occupied Luca, and that they had advance warning of the Spiran offensive."

"This is a disast-"

Nayla smirked. "However, he believes that if we announce _that_ as the 'truth,' it would serve as perfect justification for total war with Bikanel. After all, why _else_ would the Al-Bhed have _soldiers_ in Luca?"

"Elias is worth his weight in Gil. Inform him that his payment will be doubled on the next transmission. I'll see to it that the sphere networks discover that the men we interrogated were lying to protect Bikanel. That should provide double safety for us."

"Certainly," Nayla said. "And as for our Al-Bhed friends?"

"They made landfall over Home a few hours into the battle for Luca. Communications on the island have been completely severed."

"And the Council?" He sat forward. "What of our emergency powers?"

"We convene in Bevelle after you make landfall. The troublesome parties will be dealt with, and the rest of the Council will assume its rightful place at the head of Spira."

"Excellent. I will make ready."

The sphere hissed, then fell silent. Nayla laughed – a low, soft, noise that barely broke the silence in the room once again shrouded in darkness. He looked around the chamber, reached for the sphere, and bathed the room in light once more – this time, blue. With a smirk on his lips and an almost singsong voice, he began to dictate to the far-off audience.

* * *

Sig turned his gaze away from the viewport, to the chirping aquamarine sphere on the center console. The desert screamed past outside, pockmarked by occasional ruins and oases. "Update from the Maester," he said. Past the thick glass viewport, tan gave way to sparkling blue as the airship hurtled over the ocean.

On the other side of the center console, Higa's chin remained on his chest, his feet resting on the control panels in front of him. His eyelids stayed closed. "What's the fruit got to say, _syda_?"

"'The sphere arrays are confirmed down. Only matched spheres can transmit now. Return to the mainland and await further instruction.'"

"You woke me up for that?"

"'The Council has agreed to double your payment, provided you arrive precisely at the transmitted date and coordinates.'"

Higa sat up, eyes open. "Now _that's _interesting, _syda._"

* * *

Nade shut the door to his cabin and left the bolt open. He glanced around the empty room, made his way to his desk, and sat down on the padded leather chair. Pursing his lips, he withdrew the pistol from his robes and set it beside a sheet of parchment. Nade stared at the weapon. "It can't be helped," he muttered aloud. "You were clay in my hands, boy, but you've become a thorn in my side."

He took up his pen, and began to write.

* * *

"I trust you are well, Aenna?"

The young Maester of Kilika frowned. "Yes, of course. Forgive me – we just finished speaking, and I'm quite unsure of why you see it necessary to call me again."

"Because we have things which must be discussed further."

"These things being?"

Nayla's sigh crackled forth from the glowing purple sphere. "Aenna, your hostility will only complicate things. Please, set aside your animosity for me and focus on your love of Spira. The Outline is in grave danger."

Aenna's lip curled as he glowered at the sphere. "Why should I believe you?"

"If you ignore me, you will render pointless the sacrifice of so many of your people. If you listen, they will be rightfully canonized as martyrs for freedom in a Spira devoid of monarchy."

He was silent a long moment.

"Aenna, _please_."

"I'm listening," he responded at last.

"It's Maester Nade. He plans to betray the Council and seize power for himself. When you told me he had Yuna arrested, I was terrified it would be too late to act. But the window is not yet closed."

He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Why should I believe you over Maester Nade?"

"Do you recall the Council's vote to hire the Al-Bhed mercenaries?"

"Of course. It was the first step in the Outline."

"Do you recall out of whose purse the funds were drawn?"

Aenna tapped his foot and frowned. "Maester Nade carried the cost. He said it was a small burden to bear for so just a cause."

"And do you recall who served as our ambassador to the Al-Bhed?"

"It was…Nade. Nade said he would oversee the affair."

"Why was Nade so anxious to control every angle, Aenna? Why would he insist on going alone to meet with the Al-Bhed? Aenna, those mercenaries are under Nade's direct command. Whatever order he gives, whether or not the Council approves, those soldiers will obey."

"Your words are troubling."

"Kilika still has not recovered from the bombing, correct?"

Aenna clenched his teeth. "Yes."

"Do you recall by _whom _your island was attacked?"

"You're wasting my time," Aenna snapped.

"Al-Bhed mercenaries. _Nade's_ mercenaries. The Outline is his cloak to maneuver in position to seize control of Spira as Grand Maester; he has no interest in democracy. The bombing of Kilika accelerated war with Bikanel, but it also accelerated the development of a power vacuum into which Nade can and will step, if we allow it."

He paled. "The Council would never-"

"If we do not act _now, _Aenna, there will _be_ no Council!"

"What would you have me do?"

"When you reach the mainland, give word to Nade that I wish to speak with him regarding the fate of Lady Yuna. Mention this conversation to no-one, and certainly do not let Nade know that you are aware of his maneuvering. We must keep him in the dark – the hunter, as the old cliché runs, is now the hunted."

"I understand. Nayla?"

"Yes?"

"If what you've said is a lie," Aenna said, blinking hard, "I'll kill you." He turned off the sphere, shoved it in a drawer, and buried his face in the sleeve of his robe.


End file.
